Of Kings and Pawns
by BFTLandMWandSEK
Summary: War had always been drifting on the border between the Silver and Golden Kingdoms. Now, Feliciano has to make the decision that will set the fate of his Kingdom in stone: go to war with the Empire of Aristocrats or suffer forever in the West King's palm. DROPPED.
1. Prologue

**YES! IT'S RE-DONE! *so beautiful***

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

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><p>I <em>could<em> introduce myself formally, but I don't see any reason why I _should_ and spend the extra energy telling you who I really am as of the first sentence. You will know exactly who I am and what precisely I am speaking of sooner than you can expect from something like this. Go ahead; take a guess at what I am going to tell you. Go on.

What'd you guess? A person? Aliens? A cat? Hehe, humans are so narrow minded. _You_ think that I'm talking about a person, a being, or something alive and breathing, but who ever said I was going to talk about _any_ of those things – or, better yet, who said I was even going to talk about something that lives and breathes in the first place? _You _are the one thinking here.

Oh, a story, eh? Now there's a creative idea. A story of what? Love? Passion? Hunger and/or starvation? Don't you dare say 'hot pockets'.

A war? Hoho, _noooow_ we're getting somewhere! *sigh* Alright, alright. Since you actually guessed something intelligent and slightly spot-on, I'll tell you a small fact about this mysterious narrator (myself).

No, I will not educate you with my name, where I come from, what I'm doing here, or why I am talking to you in the first place – which is . . . truly a good question: why _do_ I bother to talk to people like you? As I have said before, humans are incredibly narrow-minded, slow thinkers, and quite stupid when I come to certain subjects.

Ah, I suspect that you've probably closed your browser window in anger now. If you haven't, dare I ask why? I've just insulted you, your race, your friends and family, called you stupid, said you're the densest people I've met in a long time –

Hehe, I'll tell you why: you may not be as bigoted as the rest of your kind. Caution: I said "_may_", as in "you may not account to be thoroughly included in such a percentage".

To continue on without all the rambling: the only thing I _will_ tell you about me is that I've been through a lot, but to describe _how_ much exactly, I leave up to those of you out there who can think. Yes, indeed, I most certainly am _not_ going to tell you about something living and breathing this noxious gas called oxygen. Instead, I'm going to tell you about a war; thank you those of you out there that can think and come up with such a logical topic.

Yes, the concept of "war" may be a bit intangible and invisible to most of you. But to me, the "Art of War", I guess you would call it, is just as real as the people you interacted with today, as real as I am, as real as you yourself are. War can have feeling, emotion, it can feel pain, be torn apart by love – whether that love a romance or a bromance, again, something I leave to you to decide –, congregate on the hallucinations of the numbers of many, the list is endless, my dear audience. All of these things can be accepted and happen to war so long as the story is being _told_ in the most exquisite way, one that amplifies these characteristics as clearly as a speaker does to a rock star, or lights to a magician.

Bahg, I've said much too much and probably bored you all to death: who wants to hear this old man's tale now? Certainly not _you_.

Wait – you do? *monotone* How surprisingly shocking. *sigh* Alright, you wish to hear the tale? Fine by me: I'm just an old man who loves to ramble rabble and insult to the highest degree ;)

I will tell you one thing more: I am indeed a part of this story, other than being the narrator. Though _who_ I am exactly, you'll just have to wait and find out.

Now there – do you see those two boys coming down the sidewalk; one is walking another is frolicking and skipping with a cotton ball puppy at his side? Do you see the frolicking boy's neighbor trailing close behind them, arguing about something with the other boy? The young, white-haired boy is named Edel; the oldest boy, age fifteen, is _Sylar_; the puppy close to Edel's side is Alfalfa; and the middle-aged-boy, _Alrik_, is their neighbor.

Edel is like any little boy his age: curious, a bit annoying at times, cute, innocent. Alrik is an articulate young man of high ideals who never takes "no" for an answer whether he cares to know what you're talking about or not. Sylar could care absolutely less for knowledge of the world and all of its many puzzling peculiarities. Alfalfa, the puppy, is the pond's reflection of his young, stubborn master Sylar.

Twas here, on Giving Day, that I found these four: they came skipping along down the monotonous cobblestones, dodging in and out of people's ways as the general public readied their items to be piled into several hundreds of carts waiting to be hauled off to the northwest. I was sitting, minding my own business, writing a letter to my friend out on the brackish waves of the Sapphire Blue, when they came galumphing by. Alrik and Sylar were in some heated "discussion" as Edel trailed a few feet behind with Alfalfa stepping in beside him, carrying his stubby, feathered tail proudly.

"Why _else_ would we give things to them?" Alrik insisted haughtily. Sylar rolled his eyes and scoffed as the thirteen-year-old went on, "If they don't give things to us in return, then 'thanking' them seems to be the only logical reasons for activities like this–"

"Then what could WE _possibly_ be thanking them for?" Sylar butted in before Alrik had a chance to continue.

Edel piped up from his place in the back, "I think we're just being nice by giving them presents and things!" Alfalfa yipped in firm agreement like the faithful pawn he was as Edel's naïve smile grew like a sunflower.

"Yea," Sylar said, looking down upon a glowering Alrik. "What if we're just being _nice_ to the Silver Brats?"

"That _Kingdom_," said a voice hardened with age; this is where I come into the story, "has never been made up of brats, _young man_." I looked up from my perch on a stool at an outdoor bar and turned around to face the three of them – plus the dog. I leaned back against the bar and said, "The Silver Kingdom is made of the richest people."

"But I thought the Silver Kingdom was the poorest of the Four Kingdoms, always has been." Alrik commented, his brow furrowed in a manner that clearly displayed that convoluted curiosity. "That's why we send them all these things, isn't it? We're pitying them."

I shook my head. "Kid, you've gotta lot to learn. First, you misunderstood what I said: yes, it is true that the Silver Kingdom is the poorest of the Four – moneywise. But they've got the richest character there is. And no, we do not give them things because we pity their economical state; we give as an _apology_."

"What could we _possibly_ be apologizing for?" the red-head asked in the same tone Sylar had used earlier.

I shook my head again. "So much to learn." I sighed, looking up at the blue sky. "We're apologizing for a war we started and lost long ago, so long ago none of you had been born and I was a warped, cavorting youth."

"How could character serve one well in a battle?" This kid was smart – er.

"Kid, this war I am speaking of, if it was anything, was truly a battle of intellect's most distorted intelligence. Their strong character and quick minds pulled the Silver Kingdom out of the leech filled _mud_." I stood from my stool.

Alrik scoffed at me and stuck his paint-streaked nose in the air. "I've never ever heard of_ any_ war that the Golden Kingdom lost." he ridiculed, glaring me straight in the eye.

I sighed and said in a softer tone, "It's good you take pride in your Kingdom, young man. But in that war, the pride was taken out from under our feet like a broad handkerchief, waved in our faces again as the sour taste of defeat pooled under our tongues. _You_ don't know that taste, but decrepit oldins' like me," I chuckled a bit and heaved my shoulders slightly, "_we_ _do_."

I threw a coin at the bartender and turned to stride away. I reached about a hundred feet down the street and was about to walk into my shop when there was a tug on my sleeve. I turned to see Edel's pair of big violet eyes looking up at me; Alfalfa, beside him, was giving me the same, pleading look. Sylar and Alrik were running down the street towards us, yelling for him to come back. "Please, sir." he said, his voice flowing gently like the white cream of milk, "I've never heard that story before. Would you please tell it to me?"

"Edel, don't bother him." Sylar said, gently tugging his hand from my large, brown sleeve.

"It's alright young man." I said again. I turned to Edel and asked for his name.

Ha told me hers, Alrik's, and Sylar's. "Oh, and this is Alfalfa!" he piped up, holding the puppy up for me to see him clearly; he wagged his tail and let his jaws hang open in a welcoming pant.

"Well hello there, boy." I said with a grin, petting the Saluki on the head. "So you wanna hear of the war, do you Edel?" I asked, looking to him. He nodded vigorously, and I put my hands in my belt as I said, "Well, I dunno, it's a very serious story. There aren't a lot of funny things going on, and I'm sure you'd be bored."

"Please, sir!" Edel begged. "I promise I won't! I'll try to sit and listen just like Sylar and Alrik will!"

I gave him a small smile and held the door open for him. "After you, sir." I said with a great sweep of my arm.

"YAAAY! Story Time! Story Time!" he chanted merrily as both he and Alfalfa raced into my large shop.

"Edel!" Sylar raced after him to keep him under control. Alrik followed suit, standing tall and erect as a court Bishop.

My ragged old shop is nothing worth describing. All you need know about it is that I sell odds-and-ends my friend, who I've mentioned before, brings me from his adventures on the waves. The ones I find especially exceptional I always put in a sack for when Giving Day comes around, for what use do _I _have with trinkets these days? I had not yet deposited my goods and findings to some lucky cart yet, for I wish to avoid the crowds, being the ordinarily cranky old man that I have become.

There was an aged, corroded couch in the corner of the room upon which Alrik and Sylar took up residence. Edel and Alfalfa lay sprawled on the floor facing the grand, archaic, hickory rocking chair that slumped next to that crusty couch. I often sat upon said monstrosity of twigs, sticks, and wood to, well, pass the time when there were no customers abroad to take any peculiar, particular interests in.

Today I roosted in that chair, looking down upon my audience of four, half of which were using each other as pillows, as I filled my pipe with my favorite cherry-flavored tobacco and gave a few puffs. I gave the floor a small smile and began, looking to them each in turn, "Well, long ago there was one Kingdom."

"Only one?" Alrik asked, his brow wrinkled in that telltale way of his.

"Don't interrupt him!" Edel whispered just before he looked back to me, the 'ok' to continue.

"Thank you, little mister." I had said with a nod. "Now, this single Kingdom was composed of this entire land; its capital was here, in the Golden City. Back in those days, the Kingdom was ruled by a rather vicious tyrant, cruel and mean to all those under him. Now because the capital was all the way over here in the east, the people on the west side of the River Absalom declared themselves independent. And though it was a fairly big piece of land," I shook my head, "'twas completely barren and gray, the King didn't bother with trying to take it back. In fact, he was truly glad that it was gone." I took another couple of snuffs from my pipe, filling the room with cherry-scented, herbal aromas and sighed, leaning on the arm of my rocking chair. "That area became known as the Platinum Kingdom. They developed a strong monarchy, consisting of a King, Queen, Rook, Bishop, Knight, and four Pawns. The wastelands south of the Borcul Forest must've felt the same, for a couple years after, they too retreated from the Kingdom. They copied the Platinum Kingdom's government and became the Bronze Kingdom. The King, once again, did not feel the need to go after it, for what was a barren wasteland of scattered and calamitous catacombs to him?

"So now, all that was left of the once great Kingdom was what is today the Gold Kingdom and the Silver Kingdom. But no thing, good or bad seems to last forever, for the Silver Kingdom soon after demanded their independence as well. Now this one, the King reacted to. No one knows why, but for another unknown reason, he felt as if the Silver Kingdom, which had been established by then, should stay with him."

"Did he go mad?" Alrik asked. Wow, lookit that: he _actually_ seems _interested_ – for once.

I nodded. "Stark-raving. There were multiple battles, so many that the event could be classified under the title of 'war'."

"What happened after that? The Sliver Kingdom won, didn't it?" Edel asked, sitting up and bouncing on his knees excitedly.

"Of course it did, silly." Sylar said gently, ruffling his soft white braids. Edel giggled and rocked back onto his bottom, pulling Alfalfa's chubby shape into his lap.

I nodded. "The King was crushed, and soon after it was officially declared that they had lost: he'd committed suicide. The guy was a lunatic, what can I say?" I shrugged playfully as Edel giggled and Sylar laughed heartily.

But Alrik's serious tone quieted them immediately: "What does this even have to do with the war you spoke of earlier?" He jumped from the couch, crossed his arms, and said snootily as he reached the door to my tarnished shop, "If this is your story, old man, I have no further need to listen to it."

I knew behind my eyes: it was plain he wanted to stay and listen to the rest of what I would tell, just to see if there was something he could possibly gather out of all the old man's rambling and bickering within the complex folds of intelligence littering his large empty casket of a skull. His intentions for wanting to stay, I cannot say; maybe I was wrong all along and he truly wanted to leave; perhaps it was just my mind fooling my conscience into thinking that _someone_ – hell with that, _anyone_ want to stay and keep _me_, the dilapidated aged man, company. But for moment's sake, I pretended I didn't: I leaned further on the arm of my rocking chair, folding the stem of my pipe between my thin, creeping fingers, and said with raised brows and lightened tone, "You won't stay and listen to this lonely old man's story? Ah, I doubt that you candidly do, but humor me, won't you mister? Stay and listen to my tale?"

"Cummon, Alrik." Sylar said, getting comfortable on the couch.

"Yeah, Alrik. It's just starting to get interesting!" Edel cheered with a persuasive whimper from the dog in his lap.

Alrik turned and repeated, "Why bother telling us _this_ story if it were not the tale you originally were speaking of?"

"Oh," I waved my hand nonchalantly and motioned with my pipe to the couch. "Take a seat and you'll soon find out."

Alrik gave me a doubting, suspicious look, but nevertheless walked towards the couch and took up his seat once more. I smiled at him and continued, "Now, since Alrik here _insisted_ that I skip ahead, I will tell you the tale of King Alfred and King Feliciano."

Sylar butted in and asked, "Is he the same as Feli the Coward?"

I frowned – wait, I don't think it's proper to call it that. It was more of a cross between a frown and a scowl, a really deep, angry scowl – ah! We'll call it a 'scown', no? Yes, yes, that's it: I _scowned_ before answering, "They are the same person. But the only reason that name exists in the first place is because King Alfred, the Golden King of that time, referred to him as such."

Alrik asked, "But I thought King Alfred was –"

"King Alfred," I said, using the same tone I had when I had first spoken to the out by the bar, "was a fool and a charlatan. He was a whole reason the war started."

Edel raised his hand, as if he were in a class of sorts. I nodded to him and he said, "I'm confuzzed." Yes, 'con-fuzz-ed' was the word he used.

"What are you 'confuzzed' about, Edel?" I asked, my voice back to normal.

"What war are we talking about now?" he asked with an inquisitive tilt of her head.

"Oh, well, I guess I should – you can put your hand down, Edel – I guess I should start from the point right before the war started, eh?"

The three nodded. I cleared my throat and recited, "Alright now, no questions, no interruptions, agreed?"

"Agreed." "Yeah." "Dupdup." Alrik, Sylar, and Edel chorused.

"Alright then, here we go . . ." I cleared my throat and began my tale, not as that of a list of points to be made, but of a real fairy-tale. The memories flashed before my eyes clearly enough as long forgotten scenes and moments came flooding back to me.

"The North King burst through . . ."

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><p><strong>That last sentence continues on into chappy 2 . . .<strong>

**Alrik: Ladonia**

**Edel: Kugelmugel**

**Sylar: Molossia**

**Alfalfa: Molossia's dog**

**You'll find out who the mysterious narrator is if you stick around to the end of the fic :O**

**Reviews/Faves/Alerts are loved!**


	2. Chapter 1: Aloe

**YAY! THEY'RE RE-DONE! Ah, if only FF had plzes. . . .**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1: Aloe<strong>

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><p>. . . the doors to the infirmary, soot and ash drifting off his well built shoulders. Working in the factory had –<p>

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><p>"<em>King's don't work in factories." Alrik rebutted smartly.<em>

"_What did I say about interruptions?" I said with a lightened, jokingly serious tone, looking down at Edel for a response._

_The little boy squeaked, "None!"_

"_But no King would set himself among commoners like that." Alrik added. _

"_Alrik, Alrik." I shook my head and chuckled slightly. "King Feliciano was no average King."_

"_What do you mean?" Sylar was the one that asked. _

"_Oh, well, you see," I began for an explanation, "at this point, King Feliciano had only been King for about a year and a half; now that is not a lot of time, not at all. Feliciano knew the state in which his Kingdom stood when he inherited it from his grandfather, King Raffaello, who resigned to live across the sea with Feliciano's cousin."_

"_Enough with the history lesson. Why was he working in a factory?" Alrik snapped. Boy, I felt sorry for whatever parents/siblings/family members had to put up with this child._

_I sighed and said, "The Silver Kingdom has never been the richest of places. King Raffaello, he was a wonderful King who cared deeply for the welfare of his people. Over time, the Silver Kingdom had tapped out its reserves of silver mines so that there was hardly any more left; all they had after that was an extremely rich store of iron. _

"_They began to 'harvest' it, I guess you would say. And so, because they were short on workers in the Black City, King Feliciano was helping to work in the iron mill, or the iron factory."_

"_Hmph." Alrik snorted to himself right here and crossed his legs, leaning back into the brittle cushions of that rubbish I, for some reason, considered high enough in the Furniture Triangle of Status to be called a "couch"._

_I continued._

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><p>– transformed him from the scrawny, little thing he'd been to a strong, well built man. He <em>WAS<em> the King of the Empire of Strength after all.

And be definitely needed to be strong at the moment as he gazed at the scene before him with hollow eyes: the West Queen and East Knight were crowded around a single bed with sorrowful expressions. The North King could hardly believe it: the South Rook was actually down.

The East Knight's attire told the North King that he'd been out on patrol, for that was only time he ever wore his thick iron armor. The West Queen was dressed in her leather work clothes; that told the North King she'd been tending to her Palace duties. But the Rook . . .

The North King cautiously walked up to the bed, looking down mournfully upon his beloved South Rook, whose body was torn, ragged, and pierced in far too many places. Whoever had attacked the Rook must've been strong, for the Silver Kingdom's armor was regarded as the best: thick, sturdy, finely crafted, and VERY heavy.

The North King gulped back tears and gently pushed a lock of pale hair off the Rook's cold skin. The South Rook's once-piercing blue eyes fluttered open. "Hey Feli . . ." he whispered, his voice just as rough and stern as usual, but frosted with pain.

Feliciano hardly managed to keep back the water wanting to gush from his eyes as he clung for dear life to the Rook's hand with his own sweat-soaked, soot covered hands. The West Queen cooed softly to them and gently dabbed a wet cloth to a wound on the Rook's leg. He winced; Feliciano started and cried in a painful voice, "_Elizaveta_! Be careful!"

"Feli . . ." The Rook squeezed Feliciano's hand tightly. "Don't get mad at her, please . . ."

"Ludwig." Feliciano kneeled beside the bed and looked right into the Rooks eyes. "Who. Did. This. To. You."

Ludwig gave a small smile, brushing some soot off his King's face with a weak finger. "Feli . . ."

"Tell me!" The tears were raining down on Feliciano's cheeks, clearing away coal dust and ashes and marking pale rivers of skin in the soot.

Ludwig sighed. "The North Knight."

"The _North_ Knight?" Feliciano asked, amazed in every way possible. "You – you're _suuure_ it was North?"

When Ludwig nodded solemnly, the look in his eyes portraying that he was telling the absolute truth, Feliciano exploded, "That _idiot_? There's no WAY he'd be able to – to –" Feliciano lost himself in his forest of confusion as he looked down at the plethora of wounds on his Rook and started stuttering like crazy; he just couldn't imagine the _North Knight_, of all people, being able to do ANYTHING this drastic, this gory, this . . .

The East Knight cut in, "Feli, Ludwig was ambushed –"

"No duh he was, Rodderich!" Feliciano cried as he wiped the tears from his red cheeks with his ashy sleeve. "There's no way the North Knight would be able to do anything like this on his own."

"Feli?" Ludwig cooed, gripping his friend's hand tightly.

"Feli," Elizaveta pleaded softly, placing a hand on her King's shoulder. "We should let him rest now."

Feliciano gave a small nod; Ludwig smiled and closed his eyes. Elizaveta quietly ushered Feliciano and Rodderich outside, saying, "I'll stay with him."

"Thank you, dear." Rodderich kissed his wife softly.

"Watch out for him, won't you Rodderich?" Elizaveta whispered quietly.

Rodderich nodded. "I will."

She smiled and walked back into the infirmary, closing the door softly behind her. Rodderich turned to Feliciano, gazing out a window at the dark night with a blank expression, nearly the opposite of his prior self not more than twenty seconds ago. The North King could be so two-faced at times. Rodderich knew what Feliciano was staring at: the Golden Kingdom, drifting on the horizon like a great taunt. A dark aura was wafting through the air, Rodderich could feel it as he watched Feliciano's eyes narrow for a split second.

The Knight knew how close those two were. Ludwig had been Feli's best friend ever since Rodderich could remember. They'd more or less be considered bond-brothers. Rodderich unstrapped his gauntlet from his hand and ran his fingers through his dark, graying hair. This would tear Feliciano apart from the inside, but there was one thing Rodderich couldn't quite put a finger on: why would Arthur attack Ludwig in the first place?

Rodderich was still pondering all the possibilities of this strange occurrence when Feliciano called his name, sending him jumping out of his stupor. Rodderich answered, taking a step forward, "Yes Your Majesty?" The title still felt a bit strange on his tongue, since Feliciano had only been King about a year, and it still left a clear image of Feliciano's Grandfather clear in Rodderich's mind.

Though the main reason it felt so strange was probably because he'd helped to raise both Feliciano and his brother, Lovino. He'd been a newly married man when the brothers had been born; their mother died soon after that. Their father, King Raffaello's son, had disappeared at the tragic death of his beloved wife. Elizaveta and Rodderich had helped to raise the two, and when those two were grown enough, they'd adopted their own son: Sebastian, who was about twenty and fulfilling the spot of Rodderich's squire.

Feliciano didn't bother to turn as he commanded, "Leave Elizaveta with Ludwig. I'll get the Pawns. Meet in the Great Hall."

Rodderich nodded and bowed. "Right away, sir." The Knight ran off to find the other members of the Monarchy he was assigned to retrieve: Sebastian and Kiku.

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><p>Feliciano sighed as he glared silently at the map in front of him. Sebastian, the East Squire; Lars, the North Pawn; Lovino, the South Pawn; Emil the East Pawn; and Lukas, the West Pawn, had showed up. They were just waiting in unwavering, gauche silence for Rodderich and Kiku.<p>

Everyone but Feliciano looked up when Rodderich came into the room with a defeated look on his face, a look which immediately turned to one of annoyance. "You could've told me you were here already." he pointed out, walking up to the large table set up in the middle of the room.

A shape with placid black eyes and soft black hair stepped forward and took his place beside Feliciano. "I did tell you I was here already." Kiku, the East Bishop, said serenely. He looked to Feliciano, who was concentrated and focused as ever, and whispered, "Sir, we're all here now."

Feliciano bowed his head between his large, arched shoulders; he straightened and continued to look at the map as he recited like a broken record, "Ludwig is down."

"What?" Sebastian, Lars, and Emil chorused. Lukas paled and put an arm around his brother's shoulders as Emil turned a bright shade of angry rose.

Sebastian, a handsome, freckle-faced youth with chestnut hair and sunlit amber eyes, looked to his foster father for reassurance. Rodderich met his son's look strongly spot-on for a couple seconds before he gazed down at the toes of his boots. Feliciano thought he could hear Sebastian's jaw fall right off.

"Who did this?" Lukas asked, looking up from his lap and right to Feliciano with a fierce cobalt glare. When Feliciano didn't respond, he said louder, "Feliciano. _Who_. Did this?"

The North King tossed the pencil he'd been holding onto the table with a dejected sigh and said, "Arthur did."

There was silence for about ten seconds – ten, painfully, agonizingly _loooooong_ seconds – before there was a loud and muffled chuckle. "Arthur?" Lars asked, looking up to Feliciano with smirking brows atop his pale green eyes and messy blonde hair laced with braids of soot; he'd been coming back from the factory when Feliciano had fetched him. "The 'North Knight' Arthur?"

Feliciano nodded and tapped the edge of the table gently with the side of his finger, signaling that he was thinking deeply.

Lars's mouth was open for a moment, as if he were going to say something. He shut it after licking his lips and put his chin on his lacy-fingered hand, joining everyone else in their quest to stare at the map. Lars's eyes dashed back and forth from one place to another for a few moments before he asked without tearing his eyes from the parchment, "What're we gonna do?" He wasn't distressed or in tears, far from it; he more asked it with a blank, inept curiosity.

Feliciano's fists clenched and his brows furrowed tightly as if someone yanked on some strings attached to his face, but his voice was calm as a still pond when he spoke: "Honestly?" Lars nodded and looked to his King. Feliciano gave a thoughtful shrug. "I dunno."

Both Sebastian and Rodderich looked up, their faces one big, quiet blink. Feliciano didn't move. Lars provided an understanding chew of his tongue as he gave a small nod. Lukas, though, was the one that had the most noticeable reaction to this statement: he scowned and snapped, "Aren't we going to do _something_, Feli?"

"You have an idea?" Feliciano commented, giving a slow blink between "an" and "idea" as he rubbed his chin and continued to stare at the map. He voice was not curious or hopeful, but filled to the brim with doubt and overflowing with suspicion – and Lukas knew it.

His scown deepened into a full-on scowl and he said, "Of course: we should attack the Golden City. They had no absolute reason to crush Ludwig like this –"

He stopped when he saw Feliciano's reaction: he was _smiling_. Not a modest smile or a small grin – no: a stupid, boyish, _wide SMILE_ that he tried to hide under his hand. He clutched the edge of the table with both hands as his shoulders gave a tremendous shudder; he was _laughing_. Lukas had to resist getting up and slapping him over the head with his leather-gloved hands as his eyes filled with rage. Feli finally managed to look up, biting his lip and his tongue ruthlessly, with his eyes still giving the West Pawn that ridiculous, ludicrous smirk. "It's so funny how you're able to do that, Lukas." he chuckled, gripping the table so hard in his quest to regain control that it _creak_ed. You know what? Make that three-faced.

If Lukas had another notch of furious on the top of his Anger Meter, he sure turned onto it now: the fact that Feliciano was _laughing_ at him made the whole sentence a billion times worse. That guy had some guts, he had to admit. He stood up, pushing the bench, his brother, and Lovino back so violently that they all fell over onto the black marble tiles, and grabbed two large fistfuls of Feli's sooty shirt. Lukas began to shake him wrathfully, so hard that even more soot and ashes floated off of the booming Feliciano. "What the _hell_ is so _damn funny_?" he screamed at him. Feliciano kept on laughing.

Emil scrambled to his feet at lightning speed and grabbed his brother around the waist, hauling him away from Feliciano as he balled one of his fists, prepared to punch him. "Emil let me go!" the West Pawn screamed. The East Pawn pinned his brother's arms to his sides and hugged him really, _really_ tightly, shaking his head stubbornly.

Lovino got up and grabbed his brother by the shoulders. "Feli, ok, cummon, stop laughing, it's not frikin funny anymore." he said with a matching smile.

Feliciano shook his head and looked over his brother's shoulder at Lukas, who appeared to be radiating scorching heat waves. "You're a great friend, Lukas."

He growled, making Feliciano laugh again. He told him with a smaller (ish) smile, "It's kinda weird how alike we think, sometimes. The principles I was raised by are telling me to go beat Alfred and Arthur into a pulp. But common sense is disagreeing, telling me that it'll cause much more problems than is necessary for times like these."

"But why would they attack Ludwig in the first place?" Lukas snapped again, not as evilly now that she knew what Feliciano was talking about.

Feliciano shrugged. "Alfred wants –"

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><p>"– a war?"<p>

The West King nodded to his Queen's question. Yao Wang, the East Queen, narrowed his slim, shaded, almond eyes and looked to his lap without turning his head. His head followed after a few seconds, and the puzzled look drawn over his face was pulled back when he began to flap his fan nervously – not that he needed it.

Yao looked to Ivan, the North Rook, for reassurance; Ivan gave him a reassuring smile and gently set a huge, pale arm around his tiny pair of shoulders. He looked up to the West King with his pale, glimmering eyes and said, "Alfred, I can see you've been thinking about this for a while. Would you care to elaborate on this possibility?"

"It will soon be more than just a possibility, Ivan." Alfred said, not even bothering to look at his Rook as he turned from the table and strode across the white marble room to the windows.

The windows' frames lay flush against the floor and brushed the top of the ceiling. The middle window was made of the clearest glass, so clear and pure that if two people stood facing each other with the glass between them, they would never identify such a barrier. The other two windows, one on either side of the clear-glass window, were made of mismatched shapes of vibrant glass that shone like diamonds when the afternoon sun shone through them. The red maples', liquid ambers', and birch trees' (out on the garden beyond the Great Hall windows) leaves created shadows and faces along the windows, casting figures dancing across the white marble floor. The gold- and ruby-embedded white marble columns all along the walls were guarded from such extraordinary activities by the path the light took around the room, being confined into the sunlit patch as it was.

Alfred stared at the amber world beyond, at its fluttering leaves in the strong, oak-scented breeze. But it was only when the West King caught the motion of one blood red maple leaf falling from the red maple about forty feet in from of him that he spoke. Though when he spoke, he spoke more to himself rather than to the rest of his puzzled monarchy. "Much more than just an insignificant possibility."

Francis, the West Bishop, cleared his throat gently and shifted his eight-foot, golden and ruby staff so it could rest lightly and eloquently on his shoulder when he said, "Care to speak up, sir?"

Alfred did not move his body in the slightest when he shifted his piercing blue eyes to the right corners of their sockets; he stood that way for perhaps a second before he turned on the heels of his newly polished, leather boots so he could look at his Bishop. He said, "Francis, you should clearly recount the days when this land was one Kingdom, am I correct?"

"If the knowledge passed down to me from my previous Bishops does not fail me. I did not live in those times, mind you, but I can clearly recount them, yes."

Alfred gave his Bishop a small smile and said as he walked back to the table, "The power of the Bishops is a strong one, and I thank you for that Francis."

"Sir, forgive me for being so frank, but what exactly _is _it that you're trying to get across to us?" Feliks, the South Pawn, asked. "I am afraid that I'm rather lost."

"I agree with Feliks, Alfred." Arthur, the North Knight, said plainly. The Knight turned to his King and said, "Come out with it straight."

Alfred's smile had vanished almost as soon as it had materialized, but now it was a much more noticeable factor in the sharp crooks and features of his angled face. "Alright then Arthur. You want plain, I'll give you plain: I want the land to be one Kingdom again."

There was a slight moment of pause before Arthur dared to raise a brow and ask, "Under your rule, you mean." His comment sounded more like a statement than the question it actually was.

Alfred pulled away from the table's edge and began to waltz around it, taking long, arching strides behind the backs of his monarchy. "The Silver Kingdom has been evading its fate for far too long, it seems."

"'Evading'?"

"Arthur," Alfred stopped behind his friend and whispered into his ear, "Don't be running away from the truth. You want those ironclad bastards under our rule whether you'd like to admit it or not."

Arthur locked eyes with his King and friend, cobalt against emerald. The North Knight sighed and swung his cape off his shoulder so he could rest his left hand on the ruby pommel of his gold-encrusted sword. His dazzling white armor shone spectacularly as the light speckles and shadow rubble chased each other through the quiet air. "You have more of this exploit planned out than you let on, don't you Alfred?"

All Arthur got in return was a smile.

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><p><strong>Since it confuzed a lot of people, I'll give you guys the basic rundown for the "directions" in their titles:<strong>

**Silver Kingdom**

North King – Feliciano

West Queen – Elizaveta

West Rook – Ludwig

East Knight – Rodderich

East Bishop – Kiku

South Pawn – Lovino

North Pawn – Lars

East Pawn – Emil

West Pawn – Lukas

**Golden Kingdom**

West King – Alfred

East Queen – Yao

North Rook – Ivan

North Knight – Arthur

West Bishop – Francis

South Pawn – Feliks

North Pawn – Natalia

East Pawn – Tao

West Pawn – Antonio

**HOW I CAME UP WITH IT: Basically, their direction is relative compared to someone else - ie: Italy is north of Romano, hense North King Italy and South Pawn Romano; China is in the east (East Queen) and Russia is in the north (North Rook). You get the point, right?**

**BTW, Kings and Queens aren't married. They can be if they want to, but it's more of apolitical position, kinda like president and vice president. Elizaveta and Rodderich are married as are Yao (Is he a man or a woman? Will the world ever know? Tonight at 11 ;] ) and Ivan.**

**On the matter of Sebastian, I'm not going to call him an OC becuase he's technically a cannon character (he's Mr. Newspaper [seriously, he's legit, look him up]) but he's not developed enough, so I'm going to classify him under the catagory of "cannon but not cannon enough."**

**I got a few WTFrance/complaints/squeals/"I Love You"'s on here for the personality I gave Feli. Some people hate it and call it OOC, some people love it. My friends/proof-readers liked it so I ain't changing it.**

**I think that's all that's needed to explain this chapter. Comment if you have any questions/you'd just like to say something, k? ****Reviews/Favs/Alerts are loved!**


	3. Chapter 2: Strawberry

**SUP GUYZZZ, I'ma back!**

**wow, woulda ya look at that: i posted a new chapter on a monday at like 11ish. . . .**

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><p>The South King rolled his eyes as the East King ranted on about some stupid political matter that Feliciano didn't care to pay attention to. Once the West King showed up, he might pay attention.<p>

Antonio had not returned, probably because the Golden Kingdom's South Pawn preferred to keep him waiting on pins and needles. _Yeah,_ Feli thought, _that sounds like Antonio. _Ludwig was not yet well enough to travel. Elizaveta had offered to stay behind with him and keep watch on the South Pawn as well. So six members of the Silver Kingdom's monarchy had showed up: Feli, Roderich, Kiku, Lars, Emil, and Lukas.

The South King stood, stopping the East King's rant, and banged his hands in the table. "Where is the West King?" he growled. "He should have been here an hour ago!"

The North Queen laid a hand on the South King's shoulder, pushing him down and snapping, "Máximo, control yourself."

Máximo sighed. "Matthew-"

"Don't you 'Matthew' me!" Matthew snapped, crossing his arms and glaring into Máximo's eyes before looking away and sticking his nose in the air.

Máximo sighed again: Matthew could be so difficult at times. The East Rook smirked at Máximo and kneeled in front of Matthew, looking up at the North Queen with his big red eyes. "Sir," he began, "you be the Dairy Queen and I'll be your Burger King: you treat me right, and I'll do it your way."

"Keep your forked tongue behind your fangs, _Gilbert_." Matthew snarled.

Gilbert was defeated and he knew it. He rose and nodded. "Yes sir."

Máximo chuckled and mumbled "Fail" under his breath.

The South Queen piped up, "Should we send someone to look for the West King? Maybe he was delayed."

The East King snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Gupta. That thick-skulled glutton knows how to get outta trouble if he ever ran into any."

Gupta narrowed his eyes. "That may be true, Sadiq, but the Golden Kingdom should have arrived by now - unless something was wrong."

"Fear not, everyone!"

Feli had to resist a groan: Alfred and his pompous aristocrats were here. The North King was both happy and unhappy that the West King had finally showed up. He'd finally know if war was declared official or not, and he could hardly tell if the news would calm or wreck is aching nerves.

"We have arrived." Alfred said as he sat down in his chair graciously, throwing his scarlet cape over the chair and sitting low. He propped his feet up onto the table as Matthew, Máximo, Sadiq, and Gupta rolled their eyes. Feli remained shock still, waiting for the news that would decide the fate of his Kingdom. The others behind Alfred were just as equally haughty: standing tall and white, with splashes of gold and scarlet running through their pristine feathers. "What have you discussed in my absence?"

The question was directed to everyone in the room, but how he looked at Feliciano with that peculiar tone in his voice told the occupants exactly who the question was for.

Feliciano stiffened and could hardly control the angst and anger that flooded his voice as he said, "We have waited for you, Alfred. The meeting cannot start unless all the Kingdoms are present: nothing was discussed."

"Well then, we cannot talk over anything as of yet: Feliciano, _you_ are missing some people."

_He makes it sound as if I own them._ Feliciano thought. "Ludwig could not come. Elizaveta volunteered to stay behind and help him."

"What could possibly keep Ludwig from participating?" Alfred ventured, a taunting glint in his crystalline blue eyes.

_He's mocking me._ Feli gulped. "Ludwig was injured."

All eyes were immediately focused on Feli. One of them was particularly noticeable: that shocked, glazed look of Gilbert's blood-red stare. Alfred noticed the East Rook's interest with a hardly-noticeable smirk and continued, "An injury couldn't keep the ever-faithful Ludwig away from a meeting-unless, of course, his wounds prevented him?"

Damnit, that bastard was really trying to get Feliciano to explode. Feliciano gave a small nod.

Gilbert was on his feet in a split second. "What happened to Ludwig, Your Majesty?" he asked, voice quavering.

Feliciano silently willed Gilbert to shut up: everything was playing right into the West King's silken-covered palm. Feli sighed and said, looking down at the table, "Ludwig was attacked."

Gilbert opened his mouth again to ask what exactly had happened; Alfred asked first, "What could possibly wound the Great West Rook?"

Feli didn't notice the look Arthur gave his husband at that moment. Alfred shrugged his shoulder's lightly, and Arthur's brow furrowed, his green eyes flaring. _Do you WANT to start a war? _was what Alfred translated the look to. The West King smirked: this meeting was just getting better and better.

Feliciano had had enough of this ambiguous rambling. He threw his hands down on the table and stood, pushing his heavy, thick oak chair back and shouted at Alfred, "You bastard! You KNOW what happened to Ludwig: you sent your gaudy excuse for a Knight after him with a score of men and AMBUSHED him!"

Arthur grabbed the hilt of his sword in rage as Alfred stood and yelled back, "Ludwig and Roderich shouldn't have attacked Antonio!"

"ANTONIO?" the Platinum and Bronze Kingdoms yelled.

They went unnoticed as Roderich stood and defended, "Antonio shouldn't have been on our land in the first place!"

"Antonio wouldn't purposely go onto _your_ land!" Yao rose from his seat next to Alfred and sneered, "Why would-"

"I_ did_!"

"ANTONIO?" the Bronze and Platinum Kingdoms shouted again as the werewolf came bursting from the doors. He skidded to a stop at Alfred's feet, his claws scraping unevenly on the cobblestone floor, and pleaded, "I'm sorry Alfred, I couldn't help it though, I had to see Lovi one last time-"

"LOVI?" Alfred screamed. Antonio's face fell as he realized what he'd just revealed: Alfred looked up at Feliciano, white as a ghost, and said, "Lovino? He's still alive?"

"What did you expect me to do: kill my own brother?" Feliciano shot back defensively. "What if Arthur was the one who broke the law—"

"Don't you _dare_ bring Arthur into this, Feliciano!"

"If Arthur's life were the one at stake, would you kill HIM?"

Alfred's brow furrowed and he glared darkly at Feliciano. "I would kill him," he growled, gaining the surprised looked from the rest of the aristocrats from his Kingdom, "and I wouldn't hesitate with it."

"What does this mean?" the Platinum Kingdom's West Pawn asked.

"War." Alfred said with a solemn face and a deadly tone.

Feli glared at him; so was this what it was coming to? A war? "So be it."

Alfred and Feli let their gaze linger for a little bit longer before the West King turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, the rest of the Golden Kingdom's monarchy following after him like ducklings.

Feli was the next to leave. He pushed through his monarchy and ran out the door hurriedly to the stables where he saddled his horse, ready to charge back to the Silver Palace.

"Feliciano!"

"What do you want Roderich?" Feli snapped.

"Sir!" Roderich grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around. "Máximo wants to talk to you, sir."

"What does he want? To pity me? Scorn me?" Feliciano shoved Roderich off and snapped, "I don't want his pity and I don't want to hear another word about my brother or that damn bastard who calls himself 'King'!"

"What about an alliance?"

Feli and Roddy turned to the door of the stables, where the monarchy of the Platinum Kingdom stood tall and proud.

"A — a — a what?" Feli asked.

"Alliance." Máximo said, walking forward and offering his hand. Feli took it and the South King shook it mightily. "Alfred and his puppets are nothing more than pugnacious, cross-eyed psychopaths."

"The Empire of Aristocrats." Matthew spat, shaking Feli's hand as well. "I'd rather fight under the courageous Black and Silver Banner than that of the Golden Slug."

"You bring honor to our humble banner, Your Highness." Feliciano said after a slight pause.

Matthew nodded. "I've always liked silver better than I have gold: gold is easily molded and shaped into whatever force it's put under. But silver," Matthew shook his head and looked Feli straight in the eye, "Silver withstands abuse, weathering, and even heat. Nevertheless, it can still be molded into desired forms. I think the same is true of you and your people, Feliciano: you yourself can be flexible enough to be molded into something better - but you're strong enough to keep your core integrity intact."

Gilbert shook Feliciano's hand last. "Whatever pain and suffering that stuck up bastard put my brother under, I'm going to give it back to him tenfold. 'Cause I'm awesome like that."

Feliciano sighed to himself as Kiku arrived; Roderich explained to Kiku what had just transpired in the lowest voice he could manage. Feliciano had both good and bad news to give to Elizaveta, Ludwig, and Lovino when he got home . . .

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><p><strong>you guys like it? i swear, next chapter will be funnier (the story just starts out pretty seriously)<strong>

**ok, apparently, SEK liked mai bitchy china more than mai sassy canada. what do you guys think?**

**Character Charts:**

**Platinum Kingdom**

South King – Cuba

North Queen – Canada

East Rook – Prussia

South Knight – Denmark

North Bishop – Finland

South Pawn – Ukraine

North Pawn – Lithuania

East Pawn – Taiwan

West Pawn – Belgium

**Bronze Kingdom**

East King – Turkey

South Queen – Egypt

South Rook – Korea

West Knight – Switzerland

South Bishop – Sweden

South Pawn – Latvia

North Pawn – Estonia

East Pawn – Liechtenstein

West Pawn – Greece

**comment and review - especially if you're confused. it's ok, i know it's kinda befuddling . . .**

**NOW OFF TO SEALAND AND MR. NEWSPAPER!**

**EDIT: these character charts and the one's i've given you before ****are not set in stone, i've changed a lot of people around, so you guys just roll with it for now and i'll post the FINAL character charts when everything is set, kz?**


	4. Chapter 3: Orange Mock

**yay! long chapter! this one was about 8ish pages on paper and 6ish typed. goes to show you guys that i have large, messy handwriting. ^~^ meh**

**there's a lot i have to explain in the chapter so you'll understand. EXPLANATIONS AT THE END!**

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><p>Peter sighed. Couldn't he ever do anything right? That stupid Vodka Bottle had caught him helping the cook again, and he'd dragged him back to Father. Now, he was getting scorned: "Peter, I've told you-how many times now Ivan?" Father asked.<p>

Ivan counted on those stupid white-and-red-patterned gloves of his. "Forty-two I think, da?"

"This has to be the forty-second time I've given you this lecture, Peter!"

"But Father-"

"Don't talk back to me Peter!" Father yelled. He already had enough to deal with, what with Alfred putting pressure on him because of this stupid war he'd started, and now Peter had to make one of the most imprudent mistakes he could've made.

"What's so wrong with helping Cook, huh?" Peter demanded as Father began to push him towards the door of the study.

Father sighed and stopped, holding onto Peter's shoulder so the little boy couldn't squirm. "I've told you this Peter: WE, as highly extolled members of the government, do NOT regularly associate ourselves with members of the lower classes-actually, we are NEVER supposed to associate ourselves with the lower classes."

Peter stumbled as he was pushed out of the room; he turned around sharply to bark a smart-mouthed rebuttal but the huge, finely-crafted oak door was slammed two inches away from his small pink nose. He stared at the curves, niches, and cracks in the dark stained wood.

"That bitch . . ." Peter mumbled under his breath as he started off down the hall. Father had taken away Sir Duckfluff, so now he had no one to talk to. _Maybe Francis_ . . . Peter shook his head. That pervert was always trying to get the ten-year-old to sit in his lap. What about Toni? The poor guy was in some extreme state of denial, but then again, Peter considered himself to be in the same sort of situation . . .

_Yea, _Peter thought deviously, _let's go bug Toni. _He scurried off through the various glittering hallways and passages until he came upon a door with "KEEP OUT" carved into it; it looked like it'd been done by two sets of once-magnificent claws.

"Eh, oh well." Peter shrugged and, avoiding all the deadly-looking splinters protruding from the destroyed piece of artwork, pushed the door open. The inside of the room was even worse than the monstrosity the door had become. Before Antonio had met Lovino, his room was neatest in the entire Palace: not a dust speck to be found, shining crystalline windows, majestic ceilings, beautiful sculptures and paintings made by the finest. Now . . .

Peter could hardly take a step without treading on a piece of shattered glass or a fragment of a once very expensive painting or an intimidating part of a stone or marble statue. The curtains were in shambles, the cobwebs ― who knew such things could have formed so fast ― were equivalent to the magnificent red velvet atrocities hanging from the gnarled golden rods. Even the very white marble tiles were torn up from the ground.

The Squire found Toni sitting on a hideous disfigurement that Peter had to call a chair, with his head resting on his giant, gangly paws. Tears were streaming from his hollow green eyes as he looked at a puny black spider running around on the "table" top in what looked to be some severe state of panic.

"That's so sad," Toni snuffled as he watched the little spider. What was he, the therapist? "You're mother gave herself up to feed you when you were born? That's so―" Antonio stopped mid-sentence, raised his head, and threw a paw down on the poor little thing without changing his expression. "―loving . . ."

"Hi Toni!" Peter said as he pulled up a chair ― could it even be called that ―, ignoring the fact that he was being completely ignored. Peter waited a few seconds before he kicked the table harshly, only getting a slight twitch out of the werewolf.

"Hola, chiquito." he managed to groan.

"Whacha doin?" Peter said, swinging his legs.

Antonio sighed and put his chin on his paws again. "Moping." he replied.

"Why?"

"I don't expect you to understand, chiquito." Antonio shook his head slightly and sighed again. He laid his ears back and wiped a tear from his cheek.

"Why're you sad, Toni?"

Peter could barely decipher the sobs and moans that came from the werewolf.

"Oh, ok." Peter began his rant: "Father's such a jerk sometimes."

"What?" Toni asked, looking up with a completely perplexed expression.

"Yeah, he is. This morning, I stopped by the kitchen to ask Cook for something to eat, then I stopped to help him make some scones to bring to Father, then the stupid Vodka Bottle came by and found me and brought me to Father ― I didn't even get a chance to grab a scone for him ― and then Father got all mad and told me that because Cook is of 'lower social status' than I am, that I can't 'regularly associate' myself with him. UGH! IT MAKES ME SO DAMN MAD!"

"Oh," Toni said, unsure of what else he could say that might cheer the ten-year-old up.

"YEAH! Sometimes I wonder how he even became Knight in the first place."

"Yeah?"

"YEAH!" Peter hopped off his seat and grabbed Toni's arm. "He's so mean sometimes. And he isn't very strong either." Antonio straightened up as if to ask a question. Peter took the opportunity and hopped into the werewolf's lap; he had to admit, that "chair" he had been sitting in was very very oober uncomfortable. "He couldn't take out the West Rook by himself: he had to have his knights do it for him."

"The West Rook is very powerful, chiquito." Antonio argued quietly.

"Soooo? He could have at least _tried_!" Peter objected.

Antonio's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Peter sighed. Must he be the center of gossip for _every_ occasion? "Father took twenty knights out to the Borcul Forest and waited in a glen because they knew the West Rook would come around eventually. When he did, Father shouted the attack and his knights attacked the Rook, but Father sat back, mounted on his horse, and did nothing. And when they came back home, he immediately called for me and told me to polish his armor and then I complained that it wasn't dirty at all and he said that there was some blood on it and I told him I didn't see any and he cuffed my ear and told me that if I didn't finish in an hour that he'd SMACK me!"

Antonio stiffened. He'd been smacked by Lovino before, but it was a different kind of smack - not the kind most people think of. Toni's mind drifted back to that night in the Forest, about a month before their relationship had been discovered.

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><p><em>Lovino shivered; it was tremendously cold outside. Damnit, why'd the tomato bastard have to be so late?<em>

_There was a noise, causing Lovino to turn and sigh (to himself) with relief when he saw that it was Antonio. "Where the hell have you been?" Lovino snapped. "I've been out here for nearly an hour!"_

_Antonio rushed up to the Pawn and hugged him; damnit, there was no way Lovino could be upset when the bastard's grip was that warmmmm . . . _

"_I'm sorry Lovi~" he cooed, nuzzling Lovi's neck._

_Lovi sighed again and put his arms around Toni's neck. "Yea, yea, just make me warmer, I'm freezing my balls off out here."_

"_Naw, Lovi wants me to make him warm~!"_

_Lovino stiffened. "Damnit, bastard! You make it sound so perverted - I didn't mean it like THAT!"_

"_You sure did say it like that!" Antonio smiled; he blew lightly on Lovi's neck._

_Goosebumps popped up all over his skin; wow, that felt gooood. Lovi pushed his blushing face into Antonio's chest. "Stupid tomato . . ." he mumbled._

_That was when they had engaged in, what Antonio called later, a "smacking tournament", to see who could "smack" who better . . ._

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><p>Antonio snapped back to reality and realized that Peter was looking at him expectantly. "I'm sorry chiquito, what did you say?" Toni asked, scratching one of his ears.<p>

"I said, 'you'd be a much better Knight, Toni'." Peter said after an exaggerated sigh.

"Better than who? Your Father?"

Peter nodded.

Antonio sputtered, "Chiquito, your Father's been a Knight all his life. He'd been trained for the position since he was born, just like you. He probably went through all the same practices that he's making you go through."

Peter sighed and crossed his arms histrionically. "Pfft, yea yea, whatever. I _still_ think you'd be a better Knight, Toni."

Antonio sighed. In some way, chiquito's words were comforting. He picked Peter up and put him on his shoulders, walking out of the room and down the hall. "Where're we goin Toni?"

"I wanna show you something, chiquito." Toni took a couple turns, a few really long hallways, and stopped in front of the door to the dining hall. He opened the door, put Peter down on the floor, and walked over to the lion statue on the left side of the doors. He pulled one of its teeth out with a yank; Peter cried out, telling him not to break that thing as it was extremely expensive and Father would probably blame the damage on him, when he saw the lion slide forward about a foot and a half.

Antonio smiled and motioned for Peter to move closer. Peter stepped into place beside the werewolf and saw that the statue had been covering a hole in the white marble tiles, a hole that lead down to a short ironwork spiral staircase and a thin, long, dark corridor. Antonio made a wide sweep with his paw. "After you."

Peter took a deep breath and began to walk down the stairs, followed closely by Antonio. They made it to the end of the thin hallway before the lion began to slide back into place, cutting off the light from the outside hall. The first thing that Peter noticed was a strangely patterned decoration lying on the wall. At least, he'd thought it was a decoration: when he moved to touch it, he discovered that it was actually light streaming in from what looked to be a kind of vent at the bottom of the wall, well near the floor. Voices were drifting through it: ". . . told you already: I _won't_ do it."

"Arthur," the second voice pleaded. They sounded like. . .

Peter looked at Antonio, smiling gallantly, and whispered, "Is that-"

Toni nodded.

"So this is the-"

"Great Hall." Toni finished with a nod. "Yes it is. It's always fun to listen in to their conversations, chiquito." Toni bent down to Peter's level and laid a gentle paw on the Golden Squire's shoulder. "This is our little secret, Peter. No one else can know about it."

"But what about Sir Duckfluff? Can I tell him?"

Toni nodded. "You may tell Sir Duckfluff. So this-" Toni motioned to the surrounding hall and vent with a wave of his paw "-is a secret between the three of us: you, me, and Sir Duckfluff."

Peter stuck out his hand, all fingers curled back but his pinky. "Pinky-swear on it!" the ten-year-old demanded.

Antonio awkwardly stuck out his huge furry pinky and the two shook on it. "Good. You have fun here chiquito. I have to go back and start cleaning." Antonio stood, patted Peter on the head gently, and walked back to the stairwell.

Peter lay down on his stomach, face pressed against the intricately carved vent, and looked outside with his large blue eyes. He could hardly see a thing inside the room ― probably because the vent was placed right next to the arching ceiling and the distance from the vent to the floor was a good fifty or so feet ― but he heard their voices clearly, just as if they were standing right next to him.

". . . a great attack plan, Arthur." That was Alfred.

Peter imagined Father shaking his head. "No, Alfred. I told you before: I most certainly will _not_ attack their coast."

What the hell was Alfred trying to do?

"But Arthur, you're the only person I know who can handle ships like that."

"Like what?" There was a harsh growl in Father's snappy rebuttal. Peter imagined the glare Father was giving Alfred.

"Arthur," Alfred sighed with what sounded like a small chuckle. "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur."

"Damnit, spit it out already, Alfred!"

"Arthur, please, just this once. I'll never ask you to take up pirating again."

Father? A pirate ― again? Peter had heard tales about Father's long lost past: of his days out on the sea, pillaging and plundering. It would be interesting to see, Peter decided ― but at the moment, he just couldn't imagine it in his little mind-theater.

Father gave a defiant "humph" and Peter imagined him crossing his arms, looking away. "Alfred, you know very well I took an oath never to take up pirating again ― ever again. And you also know the _reason_ I took that oath."

Alfred sighed, the kind of sigh someone makes when they've run out of ideas to try and convince the other person with. His breathing was stopped short. "What if I repealed the Grog Act?"

_What the hell is the "Grog Act"?_ Peter thought to himself.

Apparently, it was something important, as Peter could nearly hear Father stop breathing, the fabrics of his expensive clothes stop ruffling, his face pale, possibly even his blood slow.

"The Grog Act?" Father said slowly.

Peter assumed this is where Alfred nodded. "I'll import as much rum as you want." That was said with a lustful tone. From the soft thumping of boots in that particular pattern and the light whispers, Peter guessed Alfred was circling Father, describing the things that "repealing the Grog Act" would do.

That went on for _evvvvvver_ until Peter heard Father stutter a bit and say, "Repealed . . . f―for good?"

Alfred must've nodded, because the sounds he heard next could only be described as a glomp and then ― eeewwwww ― _kissing_. Peter stuck out his tongue at the thought as both Father and Alfred began taking ragged, uneven breaths. "Alright, Alfred. You win." Father sounded a bit defeated.

Alfred, guaranteed, had that wide white smile on his face. There were some more kissing noises before there was the sound of a small bell. Peter heard the doors open, Alfred say, "Feliks, go fetch the others. I wanna talk to them." and then the door closing again with an obnoxious, "Like, totally."

Nothing really happened between that moment and the moment when the Vodka Bottle, Pervert, and the Testy Panda showed up. And their conversation wasn't really that exciting either. Just something about the Black Palace and the Winter Solstice. _Booorrrrrrrrrring_!

Peter decided he'd eavesdropped enough for the day when he heard Alfred's and Father's plans for which city they would attack first, when they would be departing, what their numbers would be, etc. etc. He stood, brushed some dust off his pants, and began his walk back to Toni's room; he planned on asking the werewolf for some dust, dirt, cobwebs, squashed beetles and spiders, and a multitude of other repulsively dirty things.

* * *

><p>"Feliciano!" Rodderich burst through the doors and stopped at the large table on which was mounted a textured map with small blue and red flags.<p>

Feliciano looked up from his plotting and furrowed his brow slightly. Ever since the war had started, Feliciano had been looking considerably older every day. There were dark circles under his eyes, he slouched whenever possible, his eyes were half-lidded. "What is it Rodderich?" he asked, barely able to keep the sleepiness out of his drooping voice.

The hawk on Rodderich's arm cawed as the Knight produced a small slip of paper. "This came in from Urseos, sir."

Feliciano took the paper with a shaking hand, fearing at what he might find. Rodderich explained, "They call for reinforcements immediately sir. What is our reply?"

Feliciano knitted his brow even further and rubbed his chin. "Urseos should be able to defend itself perfectly find without us."

"You . . . you won't do anything for them sir?" Rodderich was shocked. He pointed to an area at the bottom of the paper and said, "But look at the casualties-"

"I see the numbers Rodderich!" Feli snapped. He sighed. "Who's attacking them?"

Rodderich let the hawk jump onto the table. "They say it's the North Knight. But he isn't attacking from the land, sir: he's attacking from the waters."

Feli raised his brows in suspicion. "He doesn't have any ―" The North King stopped mid-sentence. "― ships. . ."

"I know we're thinking the same thing, sir." Roddy said.

Feli threw his fist into the table, getting a complaining caw from the hawk when the piece of furniture jumped violently. "How did Alfred convince Arthur to take up pirating again?"

"Probably something involving rum." Roddy replied with a groan, moving to get a better look at the map.

Feliciano sighed. "Send them a company."

Roddy started. "A _company_!"

"It's a ploy to get me to send them a larger portion of the army, Rodderich, I know it."

"But sir, the reports of what those pirates are doing to the citizens and the towns and villages all along the coast ―"

"I KNOW Rodderich!" Feli yelled, rubbing his eyes. "Please Roddy," Feli seemed to beg as there seemed to Rodderich to be a large amount of strain in his voice. "You're the only one I can rely on right now. Ludwig will be out for another month, Kiku's locked himself in his room to do some spells and potions, and Elizaveta has taken up charge of looking after Lovino and Ludwig ―"

Rodderich sighed, placing a hand on the Silver King's shoulder. "Alright, Feli. I'll send the company to them right away sir." He bowed. "I will take my leave sir." Roddy turned on his heal and walked out, the hawk jumping back onto his waiting arm.

Just before he closed the door behind himself, Roddy turned and said, "Get some rest sir." The huge oak doors _boooooom_ed shut, turning Feli's mind back to the map. His last memory from the whole day was of staring at the coastal border.

* * *

><p><strong>ugh, explaining time. *attempts to crack knuckles* let's get this over with.<strong>

**1st - the "smacking" thing: if you reeeeeeally don't understand what i'm talking about, PM me ok? that's a joke my ASL teacher told us, and i thought it was kinda funny. **

**2nd - Sir Duckfluff: Sir Duckfluff is sealand's pet seagull. i looked up possible names for him, couldn't find any, and just went with 'Sir Duckfluff' *cough*cough*cuzitsadorable~*cough***

**3rd - Parenting: Iggy is Sealand's DAD in this. you'll find out later who his actual mother is.**

**4th - Grog Act: ok, so basically, for some unknown reason that i will probably end up thinking of later, the golden kingdom's monarchy passed this law that they called the Grog Act - cuz you know, every law needs a flashy/semi-flashy/attempt-at-flashy title. the grog act pretty much banned all consumption of really hard liquor (russia and his vodka are the exception; NO ONE seperates ivan from his vodka, bitches). so arthur has to abide by that law, which translates as: NO RUM FOR IGGY! (ps: 'grog' is just another word for 'alcohol' or 'liquor')**

**5th - Iggy and the Rum: IGGY LOVES HIS RUM END OF STORY!**

**6th - Sealand's Nicknames for Everybody: Russia = 'Vodka Bottle', France = 'Pervert', China = 'Testy Panda', America = he's just 'Alfred'**

**7th - Map: i know one is desperately needed, i'm trying to work out the bugs to make everything work, and when it's done, i'll post it on our deviantART for all of you who care to see it.**

**8th - Company: the rank in the army called a 'company' normally consists of about 80-225 soldiers. so Feli really isn't giving them a whole lot of help**

**ok, i think i got everything. any questions/comments/reviews are loved (unless they're rhetorical) XD love you guys!**

**-Blue**


	5. Chapter 4: Eucalyptus

Roddy snapped his spyglass shut and shouted, "Lower the drawbridge!" At his request, the bridge was lowered and the horse coming in galloped over the bridge. Roderich ran down from the top of the wall and met the young man mounted upon the poor creature. Both of them looked more than half dead.

Roddy helped the teenager down. "Sebastian?" he called.

His amber-eyed, auburn-haired, freckled squire ran up beside his master and bowed. "Sir?" he asked.

"Get this poor man some food, water, and a new horse."

"Yessir."

Sebastian lead the man away as Rodderich ran to the Great Hall, where he knew he'd be able to find Feliciano. _Like he NEEDS anything else to worry about, _Roddy scoffed to himself as he threw open the doors. Feliciano was bent over the map again, whispering to himself. The East and West Pawns were by his sides, moving the little flags and ships around for him. The North King looked like he'd taken Rodderich's advice and gotten a good night's sleep, at least. Roddy whispered into his King's ear.

Feliciano looked at Roddy and asked "How can you tell?" with the Pawns looking at them intently.

Roddy tapped his nose. "Smell, sir: lots of gunpowder, smoke, and a bit of salt. He must've ridden in from Liberou."

"Why do you think he came from Liberou?"

"All of the smells are fresh, sir. It's the next city along the coast traveling west." Roddy motioned to the map.

Feliciano swore under his breath; when he did not respond, Roddy ventured to ask, a tinge of hope in his quavering voice, "What will we do for them, sir?"

Feli looked up into an empty space in his minds-eye and asked in a dreamy voice, "Where is he?"

"Eating sir. I'm guessing he'd been riding for at least a day, the poor boy was worn out and could barely keep his eyes open."

"Send him to me. I want to talk to him."

Roddy bowed. "Yessir."

"What's your name, young man?"

The teenager cleared his throat, washing down some bread with a large swig of his goblet of water. Now that he'd eaten, his skin had gotten a bit pinker under the amount of soot and burns covering his visible skin. "Varro, Your Majesty." he said.

Feliciano waved his hand, as if swatting a fly. "Away with the formalities; I've never cared for them much anyway." He sat down in a chair across from the sixteen-year-old, who continued to eat, and leaned on his elbows. Very un-king-like. Feliciano cleared his throat and Varro stopped eating, looking up at the North King with large, dark eyes. "Varro." Feli began. "Would you care to explain to me what was it that you saw?"

Varro's brow furrowed. "Sir?"

"I mean, what . . . _exactly _was it that the pirates did? Can you recall anything from the fight, the invasion?"

The boy's skin turned white, an outstanding contrast against the dark black soot. "Fire." He obtained a faraway look in his dark, glossy eyes and his voice seemed to waver, like ripples spreading out over a pool of once-still water. "Lots of fire."

"Where?" Feliciano ventured to ask.

"Everywhere." Varro replied immediately. "On the buildings, the windows, doors, baskets, stands," he gulped, "people . . . There was screaming too."

"Tell me more, Varro, please." Feliciano begged.

The look in Varro's eyes was pleading with Feliciano, begging for mercy, not to recall the horrid memories. Nevertheless, Varro kept talking - but not before he could take a deep, shuddering breath. "The p-p-pirates, they were running around the streets like savages, waving their swords about like barbarians. The . . . cannons, kept firing. My mother and I, we kept asking ourselves, 'when will they go out? when will the fire stop?' The pirates, they came into our house. They took my-my-m . . ."

Varro choked on his own words. Feliciano put a comforting hand on his shoulder and said quietly, "Emil, find a place for Varro to rest." The East Pawn nodded and gently coaxed the boy out of his seat and out of the room.

Feliciano stood and faced Rodderich with squared off shoulders and straight back. "You'll leave at dawn." he commanded.

"The whole battalion, sir?" Rodderich asked, a smirk bubbling its way into his dark indigo eyes.

Feliciano nodded. "Every knight you have."

"But what will you do if the Golden Troops decide to attack here, sir?"

"Don't worry about us here. Go protect our citizens. I will be taking command of Ludwig's soldiers."

Rodderich nodded. "We'll be ready by nightfall, Your Majesty."

Feliciano nodded and walked back to the map.

Rodderich called over his shoulder, "Sebastian!" The squire was at his Knight's side in a second. Roddy began to talk as they made their way out of the Great Hall. "Get Lars to rally the knights. I'll get ready myself."

"What will I do sir?" Sebastian asked, though he had a feeling in his gut that he already knew the answer.

"I want you to find out where that Rum-loving Bastard and his lackeys are attacking next."

Sebastian smiled. "Yes _sir_!" The freckled man ran down the hall and was out of sight within seconds.

Roddy shook his head and smiled, running off to his room to dress in his armor.

* * *

><p>"Sir!"<p>

Roddy turned his attention away from his battalion of knights to his panting squire, running up to him with a terrified look on his face. "Manatul, sir!" he shouted, skidding to a stop in front of the East Knight.

"Manatul?" Roddy's brows shot up. "You're absolutely sure?"

Sebastian nodded vigorously. "Double-checked, _triple_-checked sir. It's Manatul they're going for."

Rodderich swore. "We have a longer ride than I thought. Get Feliciano, tell him we'll leave at midnight. We have not a minute to lose."

* * *

><p>The velvet sky was dark and black. The stars, diamonds that resisted the force of gravity all together and stuck to the blanket of black velvet, twinkled slightly, barely casting any light on the knights as they prepared to leave the Black Palace. There was no moon tonight; Rodderich and the knights were thankful for such, as it meant no one would see them galloping across the countryside.<p>

As the last couple of knights finished tying rags around their horse's hooves, Roddy looked up to the wall where Feliciano stood, watching over them. The North King nodded curtly and Rodderich gently set his horse into a walk. His knights quickly followed. The rags around the horses' hooves muffled their passing as they trapezed through the cobblestone streets. Feliciano didn't want the Black City's residents to fear for their safety, knowing that all the knights would be leaving on this fateful night.

Sebastian rode beside his master. His gray mare, Aurora, had been smeared all over with soot, dust, and ashes so as to not catch and light and attract attention. As prissy as she was, Aurora most certainly did not like having her pristine coat tainted in the slightest; as many of you can imagine, the high-maintenance mare was not the least bit happy about this. The knights thought it funny to tease her about it and, from that moment on, referred to her as "Nocte". Even the other horses seemed to be teasing her about it.

Nox, Rodderich's powerful blue roan gelding, quieted the horses with a firm nicker. Their mission, until they were a couple miles away from the city, was stealth. If Nox was indeed the head of this battalion, then that meant he took his job seriously - _very _seriously.

They passed under the archway of the outer wall with barely a sound. The dirt road and coarse underbrush helped to muffle their sounds even more. It was only when the entire battalion was about three miles from the sooty lack City that Roddy tapped Nox's flanks the gelding took the signal immediately and started galloping off into the north with the score of 1000 horses and knights behind him and his master.

* * *

><p>It was not yet dawn. Another hour and the sun would rise above the once-peaceful horizon of drifting sapphire waters. The sky was stained like some bucolic, idyllic painting, with fabulous scarlets, gingers, sallows, and blushes.<p>

Arthur was staring at the high, gray, stone wall before him, as if to try and melt it with his glowing grim glower, when a pirate ran up to him. "We can't break through the wall sir!" he gasped, wiping ash from his eyes. "It's stone's're too thick and there's no weakness we're able ta find-"

Arthur turned his glower to the man, silencing him immediately. "The _gaate_, dumbass, THE GATE! _Blow open the gate_!" he roared.

"Yessiryessiryessir-" the pirate screamed for fear of his life. Damnit, now Arthur was _maaad_ . . .

"NOOOW!"

The pirate scurried away and began barking orders. Arthur rolled his eyes and thundered over the squawking of cannons, shrieking of stone, and screaming of men, "Pull up to the empty docks! Storm the wall and blast open that gate! I want the head of every soldier in there, taken from him while there's moving breath in his lungs! MOVE you bilge-sucking cowards or I'll take the Cat O'Nine Tails to every one o'yer barnacle-plastered backs!"

The pirates lowered the gangplank and ran up the long, creaking docks, following the pathways to the huge, hickory and oak gates. "Oh-hoho!" Arthur smiled a wicked smile and drew his cutlass. "The fish are gonna eat _goooooood_ t'night boys!" he shouted, hoisting the cutlass and a green glass bottle he'd grabbed out of an open crate into the air, as scores of men with huge barrels of gunpowder ran past him. With an echoing malicious cackle, Arthur tore the cork out of the neck of the bottle with his teeth and began guzzling.

The men all ducked behind crates as the fuse for the barrels piled against the door was lit. The entire section of the wall was blown away, reduced to nothing more than ashes and pebbles. The city lay silent, it's occupants lying strewn around the various roofs, hanging still in windows, staring with awe at the crumbled walls and chunks of giant rock. Some of the walls and what remained of wooden stands were smoldering, sending black plumes up into the scarlet streaked skies.

The pirates surged into the city, waving around multitudes of crude objects identified as weapons of barbaric origins, chasing shrieking women and children down blocked alleyways, spilling the crimson blood of previously-proud soldiers onto the pale stone street. Arthur charged in with them and shouted with a grandeur sneer, "Get a Hempen Halter out here boys! Time for the Hanging Of The Century!"

As the first few civilians were hauled up onto the gallows, the man at the lever looked to Arthur for a "go ahead". Arthur grinned wider than the devil and shouted at him with a whining cackle straight from the depths of hell, "_Dead men tell no TAIIIIIIIILES_!"

Just as the pirate was about to pull on the lever, Arthur singled out a scream and held up a hand for him to wait. The scream was not that from a woman, child, or soldier, but of a warrior . . . whatever the hell it was, it was most definitely not a sailor's scream.

Arthur ran back to the square and stopped in front of the gates, wondering why the hell everything was getting so blurry. Damn, he'd really have to stop drinking: the gates looked like they were _pulsing_. The North Knight began to laugh until he realized that he wasn't the only one who thought the gates were acting strangely. The entire square fell silent; the only noise being made was coming from the something on the other side.

If the North Knight hadn't been so drunk at the moment, he'd've realized long ago that the noise he was hearing was actually a steady banging. "Is thata battering ram?" a sailor asked.

"Sure as hell sounds like one." another replied.

The huge bar barricading the doors began to crack, splintering right down the middle like a twig. With a thunderous boom and creaking of rusty hinges, the doors flew open and in flooded the entire battalion of Silver Knights just as the sun broke over the sapphire waters, drowning the battalion of black-armored knights in scarlet and gold.

Arthur ducked out of the way of their hugeass horses and reached for his cutlass - just to swear profusely when he found out he'd dropped it in his drunken stupor. Throwing the rum bottle at a knight reaching down to cut him to smithereens, Arthur ran up a back alley and jumped into the square he'd previously been in.

The civilians were looked at him with puzzled expressions as he fumbled around frantically on the dirty ground trying to find his sword; he could nearly feel the alcohol leaking out of his pores along with all the sweat. Arthur found it just in time: a group of the Silver Knights flew into the square. Arthur, now miraculously back on his feet and sober - most likely from all the adrenaline pulsating through his veins - hitched onto the saddle of a passing knight, punched him out of the saddle, and began a duel with another knight who dared to approach him.

* * *

><p>"Sebastian!"<p>

The freckled squire turned around to see Rodderich towering over him and fighting off a couple other pirates with his large sword as he held onto the collar of a pirate squirming like a worm pulled fresh out of the ground. He threw the small pirate into Sebastian's arms and hollered over the echoing of clashing metal, "I found him tagging along closely to Arthur and he sure as hell looks like he knows something he shouldn't! I'll hold em off, find some place and see what you can get outta him!"

Sebastian nodded with a smirk and dragged the pirate off down a surprisingly deserted alleyway. Barging through a door, Sebastian spotted a cellar door and opened it, throwing the pirate down the small flight of steps and closing the door behind himself. Sebastian guessed from the multiple rows of enormous barrels stacked throughout the huge room, they were down in a wine cellar. Or it could've been beer or rum or whiskey or any alcoholic drink of the sort - all Sebastian smelled was the ever bitter smell of hard liquor.

He'd never liked booze, it always seemed to leave a sour taste at the back of his throat - code for: he couldn't hold his liquor to any extent and got drunk even by smelling the stuff no matter how far away he was. Even now his head was starting to ache. _Damnit_, he swore to himself as he pulled the whining pirate to his feet, _why the hell'd this have to be an alcohol cellar?_

The pirate was a lot smaller than any normal man, and he was swearing his head off in the highest voice imaginable. _Maybe he's a dwarf_, the freckled squire thought as he struggled to keep a hold on the squirming man, sneaking a small look at the man's face through his rough blonde bangs. It was then that Sebastian noticed that the pirate looked vaguely familiar . . .

Sebastian took a fistful of bangs and yanked them back, revealing the small pirate's face. He whimpered in pain and looked at a wide-eyed Sebastian with his round, terrified green eyes. "What're you gonna do to me, eh Sebastian?" Peter cried.

"Peter!" Sebastian let go of the smaller boy's hair and straightened him out. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Peter shrugged Sebastian's hands off his shoulders and said haughtily, "I'm here to prove to my Father that polishing armor isn't the only thing I can do right!"

Sebastian sighed and looked down at his fellow squire. "You've already managed to get yourself caught; you better be thanking someone you haven't been identified as Arthur's son yet."

"Father and all his stupid pirates were three or maybe even four sheets to the wind by the time we blasted the dock gate open!" Peter snapped haughtily. "Now let me outta here."

Sebastian shook his head and put his hands on the ten-year-old's shoulders, kneeling to look eye-to-eye with him. "I can't Peter. You know something that'll help us." _You ALWAYS know something_, Sebastian thought to himself.

Peter stuck his nose into the air and looked away. "Like hell I'ma gonna tell you!"

"You have to, Peter." Sebastian's eyes glinted in the lantern light in some extravagant yet eloquently simple way, making Peter shudder. He'd seen that look before: Sebastian had entered what Peter and the other two squires liked to call Sebastian's "Interrogation Mode". He gulped; when Sebastian had entered said "mode", there was no way anyone could keep any information he wanted from them. He always seemed to get it in one way or another, whether it was by giving you that look, threatening you, or doing some other act which just _always_ seemed to work. "Or I'll drag you outside and announce that the Golden Squire's here. I'm sure your Father will be happy then . . ."

Peter snapped. He whined, "OKOKOKOKALREADY! What do you wanna know?"

Sebastian smiled. "Anything you wish to tell me, Peter." he said, a smirk squirming into his tone.

"-"

"Hold up, Peter." Sebastian's brow was furrowed dangerously. "Say that last part for me again, will ya? Slower, please."

"'Francis was being a pervert and I wanted to leave so I kinda did'?"

"No, no." the freckled Black Squire said gently. "The part right before that. Something about an invasion?"

Peter nodded, a bit afraid of what Father would do to him if he ever found out that he'd given all this important information to Sebastian. Peter also kinda worried for Sebastian: the Black Squire - as scary as he was sometimes - was the only other person who'd really listened to Peter. Now that he'd gotten Toni back on track, the South Pawn was ignoring him as much as anyone else ever had. What would Father do if he was ever able to get his hands on Sebastian?

"Please tell me, Peter?" Sebastian begged. He was still in Interrogation Mode, but Sebastian's soft side was coming out. Peter was just like a little brother to him, and he didn't want to have to yank the information right out of him. Better to coax it out gently and have Peter tell him of his own accord rather than breaking the little guy.

Peter shuddered a bit and said, "The last thing they talked about was invading the Black City."

"On the Winter Solstice?"

Peter nodded again.

"Can you tell me anything more about this, Peter?"

Peter shook his head. "All I heard was that they were gonna take all the forces they could muster and 'march on the Black City', yessir, that's what they said. They were gonna get as many pirates to help them as they could and lotsa 'mer-mer-"

"Mercenaries?"

"Mmmhmm, lotsa those, and anyone from overseas that they could get."

"Was that all, Peter?"

The Golden Squire shook his head. "Mm-mm. They started talking like 'we'll put the troops _here_' and 'Ivan, you and your soldiers will be positioned _here_' and 'they'll expect us to do a charge right into the center lines but we won't' and 'instead we'll go around and fire _here_, at the center tower' and junk like that."

"Was he pointing to a map? Could you see where he was positioning things?" Sebastian said eagerly.

Peter shook his head and looked down at his toes. "I could only hear them - I couldn't see anything they were talking about, but I could imagine it."

Sebastian gave Peter a look out of the corner of his eye. "What did you imagine?"

Kneeling in the dirt of the cellar floor, Peter began to draw things with his finger. "I'd seen the maps that Alfred was using. He had three: one of the whole land, one of the coast, and another of the Black City layout."

Sebastian gripped Peter by the shoulders abruptly, making the ten-year-old jump. "Peter." Sebastian stated. His look was one of utmost seriousness. "Was there a date on that map? Was there a date _anywhere_ on the map that you could see?"

"Um, no, not that I remember on _that_ map," Peter piped up after he saw Sebastian's disappointed look, "but I _do_ remember the day we got all those maps."

Sebastian was interested. "What can you tell me about that day, Peter, huh?"

Peter tried to remember. It had been a long time ago, almost too far back for the ten-year-old to remember clearly. "It was spring - the beginning of spring." he began. "Father had just come back from patrol and told me to go fetch a crate down in the landing dock. So me'n'Leon went down and picked up the crate and went back to the Great Hall. I asked Father what was in it and Ivan pried it open. Father said it was all maps and big-people stuff. I didn't believe him, so I asked if I could see one. The Testy Panda got mad at me - again - but Natalia said it was fine and handed me one. Leon helped me lay it out on the floor and-"

He had stopped. Sebastian raised his brows and asked, "What happened next?"

"I think Panda questioned their making, said something about them not lookin' all to accurate - but Alfred told him that they were brand new and had been made by the finest map-makers. Him and Panda argued for a bit as I looked at the map." Peter furrowed his brow and rubbed his forehead a bit; man, being in an alcohol cellar wasn't all too good for the young boy. And it was hardly any better for Sebastian, who was starting to sway a bit.

"Do you remember when this happened? How many years ago?" Sebastian managed to ask. Damn, they both had to get out of there fast. All the liquor scents floating through the air was not exactly a good thing, not good at all.

"Um, I think . . . maybe, about threeish, four. . ."

"Is that all you can remember of that day? What about the meeting in the Great Hall just recently, anything else from that?"

Peter shook his head. "After Alfred started talking, that's when Francis made a pervy comment and I left."

Sebastian nodded, his amber eyes hollow. "Thank you, Peter. You can go now." he said, standing up and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He started towards the staircase and opened up the trap door again.

The Golden Squire chased after him, bounded up the stairs and into the house again. Man, Peter never thought the smell of fresh air would smell so _sweeeeeet_. He hitched onto Sebastian's arm and demanded, "I wanna go with you, Sebastian."

Sebastian shook his head as he opened the door and peeked outside. "It's not safe for you Peter. Can you imagine what your Father'll do if he sees you with me? He'll think I kidnapped you, and that won't be a good thing." Sebastian drew his sword as he stepped out into the alley, Peter close on his tail.

"But I don't wanna go back to the Golden Palace!" he whined. "What'll Father do if he knows I came along? What if he figures out I ga-"

Sebastian hushed him with a hand over his mouth. "Trust me Peter, it'll be better if you go back with your Father. He won't even recognize you if you dress yourself up as a pirate again, alright?"

Peter pouted and sniffed, "Fine."

Sebastian kneeled and hugged him close. Peter threw his arms around Sebastian's neck as the freckled squire said, "Don't make me feel bad about it, Peter. It'll be better this way, you'll see. Neither one of us will get hurt, ok?"

"Pinky promise?"

Sebastian pulled away and locked pinkies with the little guy. "Pinky _promise_." He rubbed some dirt up off the street and smeared it all over Peter's face. "There. That'll help with your disguise. Now run along and try not to get captured again." Sebastian stood and snuck back onto the street only after he saw Peter sneak back towards the docks.

_He's a good kid. Wonder why Arthur doesn't see that_. Sebastian thought to himself as he ran off towards the square. He had some important news to tell Rodderich.

"_Fall back_!" Arthur shouted as he jumped off the horse. Whatever pirates were left after the two hours of solid fighting they'd had with the Silver Knights immediately took up the call and ran for the docks. Of the two dozen ships that had arrived earlier that day, only three left that dreadful morning.

Sebastian watched as the pirates sailed away. "Damn. That was fast." Rodderich walked up to him just as Sebastian said, "I hope Peter's on one of them."

Rodderich's brow furrowed into deep creases. "Peter?"

Sebastian turned to Rodderich and nodded. "The pirate you gave me?" Roddy nodded suspiciously. "Peter in disguise."

"Peter. _Peter_? Arthur's son?"

"Yup. Tagged along with em to try and prove to Arthur that he's not just good for polishing armor."

Rodderich sighed and shook his head. Looking back at the ships. "Hope he's alright."

"I'm sure he will be."

There was a slight moment of silence before Rodderich asked, "What'd he tell you?"

"More than I asked for. All Arthur has to do is be nice to the kid, spend some more time with him; he's really not all that bad."

"Information?" Rodderich said, getting his squire back on track.

"Alfred's planning an invasion on the Black City at the Winter Solstice."

Rodderich's eyes bugged out. "What?"

Sebastian nodded curtly and smirked.

Rodderich snapped, "Why are you _smirking_? This is serious, Sebastian!"

"There was a . . . slight defect with their maps, though." the freckled Silver Squire's grin widened, revealing all of his bright shining teeth.

Roddy raised a brow and Sebastian whispered into his ear. Rodderich found himself smirking as well. "We have the element of surprise then." he said, more to himself than to Sebastian. "Let's hope they don't send men ahead of them as scouts. Get me some paper, I'll find Corvin."

As Sebastian ran off, Rodderich put his fingers to his lips and whistled. The big, scarlet hawk flew in from out of nowhere and landed on Rodderich's out stretched arm. Sebastian returned with a pencil and a sheet of paper; Rodderich spent a minute or so scribbling on it before rolling it up and slipping it in the carrier on Corvin's back. The hawk cawed and took to the air, flying off into the southwest towards the Black City.

Roddy turned to Sebastian, who said, "We have a month."

* * *

><p><strong>Blu: Ok, so . . .<strong>

**Blue: What to talk about . . .**

**Blue: Well Blu, the fans seem to like it when there are random conversations at the bottom of fanfictions.**

**Blu: So what do we talk about? We have to make the fans – whatever fans we have out there in the first place – happy.**

**Blue: How the fudge do you expect me to know? YOU'RE supposed to be the creative lobe of this brain.**

**Blu: Hm . . . . . why don't we just ask for more reviews?**

**Blue: What – and make it seem like we're begging? HELL NO! They can review/comment if they FEEEEEL like it!**

**Blu: Alright, alright, no need to get so touchy-feely about it!**

**Blue: Well then, what the fudge to we tell them?**

**Blu: Ugh, just start explaining things. Hopefully I'll have something we can talk about by then . . . . .**

**The Crapton of "Points of Interest" (just in case you care to read them)**

1st - Sebastian: MR. NEWSPAPERRRRRRRR! Austria's Mr. Newspaper~ damnit, I LOVE this guy! (look him up; he's adoooooorable ^.^) Apparently, every country has their own "Mr. Newspaper" and he just happened to be the only one created yet. XD ironic, really...

2nd - Varro: Varro is just some random kid, no one of extreme importance.

3rd - Manatul: the Silver Kingdom's 2nd largest city. I'll be making references to it every now and then, so just remember it, kz?

4th - Map: ALMOST DONE!

5th - Aurora, Nox, and Corvin: "aurora" means "goddess of the dawn" (latin) and "nox"/"nocte" (latin) are both words for "night". Corvin's name is based off of the Italian word for "raven" (pssst! i'll draw you guys a picture of him later, but he's not a raven): corvino.

6th - Mare, Gelding, Stallion: mare = female horse; gelding = "fixed" male horse; stallion = "un-fixed" male horse

7th - Blue Roan: look it up

8th - Gray (Horse): ok dudes, i am extremely tired of having to explain this to soooo many people: a "gray" horse is a horse with a white coat and gray skin. a WHITE horse is a horse with a white coat and white/pink skin. [REMEMBER THAT FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE!] so Aurora has a white coat and gray skin therefore she is called a GRAY!

9th - Nicker: it's a sound that horses make, gotcha?

10th - Pirate Talk - i really think only three things need to be explained: "hempen halter" just means a noose (like for hanging people); "three sheets to the wind" is severely drunk ("one sheet" is mildly drunk and "four sheets" is passed out; in the fight scene, Iggy's about three-and-a-half); and "dead men tell no tales" is the same thing as "no quarter": it just means "no surrender/leave no survivors".

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><p><strong>Blu: you guys wouldn't believe the crapton of pages i found on my computer that deal with <strong>_**JUST**_** pirate-talk - probably because of my sister and her obsession with ****Pirates of the Caribbean****. **

**Blue: But we have our own computers so why is it on ours? O.o *goes into investigation/interrogation mode with mai amazing black Fedora named Maiza because Firo is just that amazingly unclaimable* better watch what's coming at you Christine . . .**

**Blu: ****any questions, just pm me/review, kz? ****COMMENTS AND REVIEWS ARE ALWAYS LOVED!**

**Blue: What'd I tell you about begging?**

**~Both Halves Of Blue**


	6. Chapter 5: Clover and Feverfew

**WHOOOOOOP! YEAH! Enjoy the chapter guys.**

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><p>Jens gently crept away from the edge of the waterfall where he'd been spying intently, crawled under the brush and bushes, and swept some dirt off his elbows and knees. Lukas turned around when he approached and asked, "What'd you find?"<p>

Lukas began to unbutton his coat as Jens said, "The Bronze knights look pretty relaxed. They aren't going anywhere tonight. Do you want me to call in all the scouts sir?" Jens followed as Lukas weaved between the tents, heading towards the center of the company's camp.

Lukas shook his head as he opened the flap to his tent. "Leave three posted within a hundred yards of each other all around the Bronze's encampment, but bring the rest in. Tell them to notify us at the slightest disturbance."

"Yessir. G'nite sir."

Lukas nodded, disappearing into the tent.

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><p>Lukas had been asleep for about an hour when some one shook him awake. "Sir?" The voiced sounded rather distressed.<p>

Lukas looked up with a scowl. Jens stood there, his forehead sweaty and his helmet propped under his arm. "Well, Jens, whataya want?" Lukas snapped, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"Sir," Jens began in a panic as Lukas sat up, "I sent three men along to scout for us; then I sent a man along to check if anything was amiss, but he came back saying that there was no scout. I asked him if he hollered to the other scouts, he said he did, but he never got any answer. Sir, I think something's really wrong here."

Lukas chewed his lip for a moment before grumbling as he rose from his cot. He grabbed his sword and tied it onto his waist with his thick leather belt. He nodded to Jens who led him through the tents where Lukas' soldiers had started to awaken, poking their bobbing heads out of the tents, stretching with the cool grass between their toes, or murmuring quietly to each other, asking what was happening.

Jens led him to a scout muttering quietly with a group of his comrades. Jens gestured to the man, stepping aside for Lukas to walk forward and talk to him.

Lukas looked at each of them in turn before he asked, "Well, what's the problem?"

The man began, "Sir, Jens sent me to go check in with the scouts so I went just like he told me to, and when I reached the place where he said the scout should be, he wasn't there. I called around for him, no one answered. Then I get this feelin' in my gut that something ain't right so I call to the other two scouts, but I never got any answer. I ran back here and told Jens right away, sir."

Lukas sighed. "Take me to where you were." he said grudgingly, as if it pained him to be there.

The soldier nodded and led Lukas through the forest to a place about ten feet from the cliffs edge. Lukas turned around a couple times in a nonchalant manner with his hands on his hips before he asked, "What sounds did you hear?"

The soldier looked puzzled for a moment before saying, "I don't recall much, sir. There wa'n't any talking, hardly a breath to be made by man, tree, or beast. But as soon as I heard a twig in the fallen leaves snap I-I-I" he stuttered here, as if afraid that what he could say next was going to get him into some sort of trouble, "-I made a run for it, sir. You may think it's cowardly of me sir, but I ain't afraid to admit that it scared me half to hell."

Lukas rolled his eyes and said with an exaggerated sigh, "Can you_ describe_ the snapping twig?"

The man pressed his lips together in thought and wiped cool sweat from his neck. "It didn't sound much like a twig, sir - more like a really thick stick. Coulda only been broken by a lota weight." He added after a couple seconds, "It wa'n't no badger or fox out there, sir, I can tell ya that right now."

Lukas was getting annoyed. "What would you say broke it then?"

The soldier was about to give his answer when there was a barbaric yell from behind them - camp. "What the hell was that? A barbarian?" he yelled in surprise as the two of them gazed on, brows drawn.

The West Pawn hurriedly ran to the cliff and looked down at the camp; not a soul stirred, or rather, the only reason nothing moved was because nothing was _there_, nothing but empty tents and doused fires. Lukas gave a deep, threatening, low growl as he pulled the glove off his left hand with his teeth, spitting the black leather into the dirt, and drawing his sword with his right hand. "Worse." he sneered. "_Vikings_." Lukas ran past the soldier and back towards the camp, the man trailing close behind.

Lukas broke through the trees and raised his left palm in a threatening gesture. A huge sea-green fist flew in from somewhere behind him and barreled into the Bronze knight, perched on a huge stallion, about to behead Jens. Jens gave him an appreciative nod and, seconds later, clashed with another Bronze knight.

The camp was a mess, overrun with Bronze knights from the abandoned camp. There were nearly two knights for every soldier Lukas had. He charged right into the battle and clashed swords with the first knight who dared pounce on him. The knight was nearly twice as big as he was, and that meant twice as strong, but when the huge man forced Lukas to his knees, the giant sea-green fist came back and threw him away.

Lukas stood and turned just to have his face pushed into the ground by some massive boot. His captor pinned his elbows to the ground and forced his face into the blood-soaked grass. Barely managing a glace up, Lukas noted that every soldier of his company was on their knees with their hands up, at the mercy of the Bronze knights. _Cowards_, he thought.

The one pinning Lukas to the ground cheered something that was to Lukas clearly inaudible and the others joined in along with him. The Silver soldiers had no idea if they should do anything, fight back, surrender: their commander was pinned to the ground like a defenseless pheasant by a blood-thirsty hound.

They all looked up as a huge stallion, black as the Knight who rode him, came walking in. The horse's huge hooves seemed to send small earthquakes through the ground with each large stride he took. The Knight rode his stallion up to Lukas and asked the man on top of him something in that foreign, absurd jargon. Lukas could imagine Gigantor smiling as he gave his outlandish reply.

The rider dismounted, pounding the butt of a large staff-like weapon into the grass, and Lukas recognized the black, eloquently simple armor adorning his feet and legs. Though, with the way Gigantor was sitting on him with a hand on his head, Lukas had a very limited field of vision, so limited the only piece of the knight's armor he could see were the plates covering the tops of his boots and a small bit of the black shinguard. Gigantor seemed to smirk as he asked Lukas in a language he could actually understand, "Recognize it, doncha little buddy?"

Lukas spat a wad of bitter saliva at the back of his throat into the grass, causing a fierce reaction from Gigantor: the colossal man grabbed a huge chunk of Lukas' pale hair and yanked his head up. Lukas bit his tongue to keep from letting out a cry so hard he thought it might split and bleed.

"You should." Gigantor continued in an insane monotone. "Your Silver_ slaves _made it."

The West Pawn had had enough of this teasing and insulting. He certainly wasn't going down without a fight. "Jötunn!" Lukas screamed. Gigantor looked puzzled for those two seconds before the fist hit him off Lukas. The West Pawn sprung to his feet and faced the furious Bronze knight.

The rider chuckled a deep, booming laugh quietly to himself as two more knights tackled Lukas to the grass again; Lukas never even got a chance to see the Knight in Black. All he could do was listen. "Feisty little thing, isn't he?" the rider cooed in a teasing, mocking tone braided together with light traces of a thick accent.

"Faen." Lukas growled into the grass. Thankfully, no one heard him.

"Aw, cummon Kristian. Let the poor terrified little thing stand up, will ya?" the rider continued to_ purr_.

Gigantor grunted. "We don't wanna give the _Pawn_ any false hope, do we Mathias?" he asked.

"_AAAhhh_, so _this_ is the West Pawn." Lukas imagined the Knight in Black raising his brows and giving a broad smile. The rider laughed and kneeled down towards Lukas. He put his mouth to Lukas' ear and whispered, "I can let you stand up again, cream puff, but you have to promise you won't use your magic, _alright_?"

The Knight in Black just crossed four very important lines in the very first sentence he ever spoke to Lukas. First, that last 'alright' sounded much sexier than it should have. Second, he had asked Lukas not to fight back. Third, he classified Jötunn as some kind of magic. And fourth, _he called Lukas a flippin CREAM PUFF_!

Lukas growled in reply and the rider must've nodded because Gigantor pulled Lukas to his feet harshly; the act was so fast Lukas didn't even have time to grab his sword. Instead, it lay helpless on the ground a few feet away from him. At least he could see the Knight in Black now: yup, confirming his suspicions, the Knight he was talking to was the South Knight, Mathias of the Bronze Kingdom, leaning on that titanic black and silver axe of his. Lukas vaguely remembered seeing him at meetings, though he tried to block out the rest of the world at those stupid boring things. He'd never understood why in the world he had to go to them anyway: Feliciano had never really required his presence - even last time he'd barely been needed.

Mathias clicked his tongue, giving Lukas a once-over that he tried to make vague (but failed with a miserable attempt) and looked to Gigantor. "Chain em and bring em to camp." Mathias mounted his horse and rode up to Lukas as Gigantor began yelling at the other Bronze knights in that stupid, confusing language associated with the Bitchy Vikings. The two knights that had tackled him previously held his arms fast as Mathias leaned down from his high perch and whispered way too close to Lukas' ear, so close that his lips brushed the West Pawn's skin. "Don't fret, min lille _Flødeboller_," he purred softly, adding a foreign hum to his extraneous libretto, "I won't be too hard on you and your little _lakajer_."

Mathias swung back up onto his saddle and trotted off into the space between the trees from which he had come as Lukas tried to take a swing at him, only gaining a harsh cry from the two knights that held him fast.

* * *

><p>Lukas decided that he'd been knocked out, as when he finally came to his senses his head seemed to throb in beat with the ever-present flicker of the lantern across the pale walls. Wait . . . <em>Where the hell did the <strong>WALLS<strong> come from_?

Lukas opened his eyes slowly so he could adjust to the bright light shining in his face. Damnit, even _thinking_ about how bright the damn light was hurt Lukas' head; he let out a loud, painful groan. A malevolent chuckle arose and that Bitchy Viking's voice drifted to Lukas' ears: "Du er oppe, Flødeboller."

"Slutte å kalle meg en jævla bakverk,_ tispe_!" Lukas snapped angrily in his own native tongue. He sat up and realized three things. The first: he was sitting on a cot in the _Drittsekker's_ tent. The second: Mathias was standing over him with a wide white grin in a long-sleeved white nightshirt and brown deerskin breeches. Mathias extended a hand to help Lukas to his feet; Lukas ignored it and stood. The third? He'd more than likely been drugged as he slept, as he started to fall as soon as he straightened his knees out.

Mathias caught him - was that a _smirk_? - and stood him up straight with his hands around Lukas's waist. "Why don't you stay, Flødeboller?" the South Knight begged, his arms tightening and beginning to stroke Lukas' sloping sides.

Lukas pushed him off with a shove and nearly fell into the cloth wall of the tent. "_Pervers_!" he yelled. "Du er en_ tispe_ og en _hore_!"

Mathias hushed him fiercely with a slap and said something in the "Viking Language" that Lukas couldn't understand. He said a moment later, transitioning directly from Viking to English, "You'll behave or I'll throw you into the mud with the rest of your lot!"

"I'd rather be in the leech-filled mud with my men than within the nearest hundred yards of a lowlife bastard like _you_!" Lukas yelled, finding his footing on the dry earth and staring Mathias in the eye with his flaming indigo eyes; truth be told, he couldn't decide which option would actually be worse.

Mathias stared dumbfounded at the West Pawn for a moment before wrinkling his brow and scowling. He picked Lukas up by the back of his collar, dragged him out of the tent, through the neat rows of tents, and towards the waterfall at the back of camp. So was set up an alien array of tree trunks, branches, spare planks of rotten wood filled with termites, and boulders that the absurd bouquet could be called The Crudest Prison Ever Designed And (Eventually) Made.

The Bronze Knight didn't even bother to dismiss the two knights standing guard at the entrance. Instead, Mathias brought Lukas around to the side and threw him over the makeshift wall - right into a large puddle of mud. "And I hope it has leeches in it!" he roared before he stomped his way back to his tent.

Jens and a couple others hurriedly pulled Lukas out of the soggy mini-lake; the West Pawn was soaked from head to toe in mud. "Damn him. Damn him to hell." Lukas growled as Jens helped wipe mud from his face.

* * *

><p>Alfred narrowed his eyes and scowled at the withers of his large buckskin as the hawk landed back on Arthur's steel-bound shoulder with a loud caw. "Nothing seems the matter with him; I'm pretty sure no one tried to shoot at him." Arthur explained at he stroked it's speckled breast with a gauntleted finger.<p>

"Are Ivan, Francis, and Yao ready?" Alfred snapped. He'd woken up with a terrific headache that morning.

Alfred, Arthur, Ivan, Yao, and Francis were positioned behind a hill facing the south area of the Black City. The Rook, Queen, and Bishop nodded, about to take their battalions to their designated spots when a scout rode up frantically.

"SIR!" he bellowed, bringing his horse skidding to a stop on the soft, rocky mud. "Sir! The entire City has changed!"

Alfred scoffed. "That's impossible. There's no way Feliciano could've done -"

"What's done is _done_, sir." the scout insisted. "They've built a fifty foot wall around the city, got huge guard towers at each corner, the city within must be incredibly organized, and it's grown _LARGER_-"

Alfred kicked the flanks of his horse, propelling him up to the top of the hill with his monarchy and the scout following. His face paled as he looked at the neatly systematic Black City before them. What the scout said had been 100 percent true: the black iron wall loomed up before them for a mile in either direction, the huge cast-iron gates looked absolutely impermeable, the large watch towers threatened them from above like wicked gargoyles. The only thing that seemed not to have changed was the Black Palace, sitting over there far off in the distance mounted upon a hill, the same hill it'd been sitting on for the past thousand or so years.

"There's a gate on each side of the wall sir, and each wall has to be at least two miles long." the scout breathed.

Alfred dug his nails into his palms and thought quickly. "Francis!" The Bishop rode up beside him and Alfred instructed, "You take the Northwest Tower back there and try to subvert the Palace. Ivan, take the North Wall. Yao, infiltrate the East Wall. Arthur, I'm giving you charge of the Southwest Tower, right here. I'll take my men and batter this South Wall till it crumbles to pebbles."

"Yes sir!" Francis, Yao, and Ivan nodded, but stayed where they were. The scout took the hint and said right before Alfred yelled at them, "What will we do then sir?"

Alfred narrowed his eyes and glared like a viper at the Black City. "Storm the gates."

"Alfred?" Arthur asked in disbelief.

"You heard me _Arthur_!" Alfred yelled. "_Storm_. The. Gates!"

"But Alfred, don't you want to scope and find out as much as we-"

"We don't have the _TIME_ Arthur! Every moment we hesitate, the more Feliciano and his hogs can get more and more prepared and fortified for when we _do_ attack. Storm the City from all sides _NOOOW_!"

Arthur drew away slightly at his husband's outburst, then nodded slightly, giving the signal for Francis, Yao, and Ivan to ride off to their assigned positions. As they rode away, Arthur turned his horse and growled over his shoulder, "I hope you know what you're doing, Alfred." He waited a couple seconds to see what kind of response he would get - if any; but when none came, Arthur reached up, closed his gleaming visor with a sigh and tweaked his head, signaling for his troops to follow as he rode off.

Alfred was once again glowering at the towering black iron walls before him in fear; though the Golden King would never admit it to anyone - not even himself -, he knew deep down somewhere in a never-ending chasm in his gut: they had truly already lost.

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><p>"Feliciano!"<p>

Feli looked up to see Kiku running towards him. He gave a small quick bow and exhaled. "The Golden Troops are here, sir. Looks like they brought every soldier they had and are about to storm the gates."

Feliciano was running to his room within seconds. "Round up every able-bodied man you can find; get the woman and children up here at once. I'll get myself ready and go get Lovino."

"You'd let Lovino out at a time like this?"

"We don't have time for objection, Kiku! How long till they hit?"

"I would say about an hour; they look like they're still organizing everything a bit."

"Good. Get what you can done in that time. I'll be out to join you as soon as I can."

"Yessir."

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><p>Feliciano opened the door to the dungeon cell. They'd moved all prisoners and captives to the dungeons when Feli ordered the outdoor jail to be demolished to make room in the courtyard for more important things. "Come to interrogate me again?" Lovino scoffed before Feliciano even had the chance to open his mouth.<p>

Feli tossed his brother his helmet and said, "We need every man we can get."

Lovino was out of the cell within seconds. "Thank you." he said as he looked his little brother in the eye.

Feli smiled and said, "You're welcome."

Lovino gave a wickedly happy smile and shoved the helmet onto his head. "Let's go kick some bitchy ass." he said with a contented growl.

Feliciano laughed and the two brothers climbed the stairs, down a couple corridors where Feli left Lovino at his room to get changed, and out onto the Palace wall. He scowled at what he saw as Kiku ran up behind him. "Get the women and children into the dungeon." he ordered immediately. "As of now, it seems to be the safest place for them. I'm giving you control of the Northwest Tower, Kiku; that's where Francis seems to be going for and you'll need to be there to block off all his magic. If I know anything about that perverted bitch, I know he'll aim all his blows at the Palace."

"Yessir. What about the other Walls?"

"Lovino and I will take the South Wall and help to defend the West. Give the East to Liz, Lars, and Emil. Rodderich can take the North; that's where Ivan seems to be."

"Yessir, right away sir. But-"

"But what?"

"Ludwig is down in the infirmary demanding that he's well enough to help."

Feliciano rolled his eyes and could hardly resist a smile. "Damn bastard." he chuckled as he ran down the stairs and straight into the infirmary. Ludwig was trying to stand up as Lars and Liz struggled to keep him on the bed.

"Lars, Liz. I'll take it from here." he said, walking up to them. "Go see Kiku, he's got your jobs for you."

"Yes sir." the two bowed and ran out.

Feliciano turned to Ludwig with his arms crossed and a brow raised; the Rook was giving his King a defiant stare, and raised a brow back at him. Feli shook his head with a smile. "You're silly." he stated plainly.

"Feli," Ludwig said, his deep voice echoing off the empty walls of the deserted room. "I'm absolutely fine."

"Well, I have no doubt that you think so, and I definitely cannot have you taking up space in here when there will be people with a more dire need for it." Ludwig began to smile, but Feliciano scowled, his brow furrowing into perpetual creases. "But there's no way in this world or the next that I'm going to put you out on the field in the state you're in. You may be well enough to _insist_ that you're alright, but you're absolutely not in good enough shape to go fighting against Alfred."

"Feli-" Ludwig began.

"Don't you 'Feli' me, Ludwig." the Black King snapped, gaining a small sigh from his Rook. Feliciano sighed in turn and said, "You've got control of the Palace's defense."

"What?" Ludwig gripped the bed harshly, but Feliciano didn't give him a chance to continue.

"You're not to leave, and I'm only going to give you a company. Make good use of it."

"But Feli-"

"_DON'T _argue with me, Ludwig!" Feliciano demanded.

Thankfully, Ludwig knew when to quit. He sighed, looked down at his feet, and said in a devotedly quiet voice, "Alright, Feli."

Feliciano bent down and kissed his forehead. "Go get ready, silly." he whispered.

Ludwig stood and pulled Feliciano into a tight hug. "I don't ever wanna see you in this room." he insisted.

Feli chuckled and hugged him back. "Alright."

* * *

><p>Feliciano was mounted on his horse when Lovino came out, dressed in head to toe in the black iron armor that had been made to match Feliciano's, and the brothers rode out with their respective battalions. "Lovino, you're gonna go up in the Tower." Feliciano instructed, pointing to the Southwest Tower as the men filed onto the wall. "Signal me if you see anything need I know."<p>

"YesSIR!" Lovino boasted happily as he took a couple men up into the Tower. Feliciano dismounted and ran up onto the wall.

The Golden Troops were right up in their face, only about 200 yards off. Feliciano growled as a soldier ran up to him and said, "Sir, we wait for your command."

Feli narrowed his eyes and said as he stared at the lone horseman mounted out there among his troops, "Let the oil and tar _boil_."

"Yessir."

"But keep it quiet up here." the North King insisted as the soldier turned away. "I don't want all this yelling going around so the bastards can find a way around it all."

"Yessir." the soldier scurried off. The large black cauldrons were filled and put under large scarlet flames.

But other than the resounded crackling of the fires, the soft nicker of a few daring horses, and the whispering _pitterpatter_ of the wind, the Black City was silent. Not a soul dared move, dared blink, dared breathe. A soldier up in the Southwest Tower had to pat Lovino on the back to make him inhale again, for his face had been changing the slightest twinge of blue. Sebastian up on the North Wall was gripping his sword's pommel so hard he feared his bones might shatter and the jewel in the pommel splinter to shards. Emil and Liz were holding hands tightly with Lars standing protectively behind them as all three had an ambitious stare-off with Yao out of the field. "Queen against Queen, eh?" Liz whispered thoughtfully.

Feliciano scoffed to himself. Alfred raised his sword, pulled his reins and kicked his buckskin's flanks to make him rear as he yelled, "_Chaaaaarge_!"

Feliciano signed. "So be it."

Ivan's, Yao's, and Alfred's soldiers charged up the gentle slope straight to the cast-iron gates. "_ARCHERS_!" the North King sounded. As the archers along the wall fired down at the Golden Troops, Feliciano looked to the boiling oil and tar. The same soldier signed to Feliciano, "minutes two". _That was fast_. Feli thought as someone called his name. He turned to look up at Lovino signing "coats red" frantically over and over again. Feliciano pulled out his spyglass and looked towards the West Wall. "Red Coats." he growled. Feli snapped the glass shut and yelled "Blue Collar Company! To me!" over his shoulder as he ran down the steps and onto his horse.

200 men filed off the wall and ran after their King as he galloped through the streets, leading them to the courtyard in which was set up twenty large catapults and a couple trebuchets. Feli turned to the Blue Collar Company and commanded in a voice that rang out above the clang of steel on iron, "The Red Coats are on top of the South Pawn, firing at him from the south side of the West Wall. I want you men to fire right _back at him_."

"Yessir!" they chorused, scrambling frantically to their positions. Feliciano was back on the wall just in time to see the men tip the cauldrons over the edge with their heat-resistant gauntlets. The North King could not bear to look, though, and see the men writhe on the earth covering in boiling oil and tar. A man threw a torch over; the boring black stone sprang to life, shadow's darkened and slithered across the countryside to escape the majesty of the amber and coral flames.

There was a large boom behind him, and Feliciano turned to see brilliant flashes of violet, cerulean, emerald, and claret off towards the Northwest Tower. _Hope Kiku's holding his own up there, _the North King thought.

* * *

><p>Kiku didn't dare reach up and wipe the sweat off his brow. <em>Damnit<em>, he thought. Francis had gotten stronger since the last time they had dueled. Or maybe Francis was being so fierce because the Black and White Bishops were fighting for their lives and dominion over the Northwest corner of the Black City.

A couple droplets of sweat ran down the bridge of his nose as Kiku fired a violet blow at the Golden Bishop. He countered with slicing through it with his staff and tossing back a scarlet wave. The wave was moving so fast Kiku barely had a chance to block it. In fact, he didn't.

The blast sent Kiku hurdling back against the stone wall behind him. His vision went black and he felt something trickle down his neck; it wasn't sweat. His mind began to wander, and like a Bishop's magical touch often does, it directed him to a scene that must've happened sometime in the recent past: there were lots of women with terrified little children clinging frightfully to their aprons and skirts. Some of the children started crying and whining when a dim flash of emerald came from flooding through the entrance to the bizarre place.

"What's gonna 'appen to the Bishop, Mama?" one little dirt-smeared child cried. The others joined in with the plea as their mothers, sisters, and grandmothers tried to calm them.

Kiku felt his brow furrow absentmindedly. Children? But they were all in . . . the dungeons . . . . in the Palace . . . . . which Francis was firing at with deadly blasts at this very moment. The Black Bishop stumbled to his feet and glared at the White Bishop; indeed, the perverted bitch was gathering his magic into the size of a cannon ball and waiting until he had the right amount of force behind it to fire. Kiku growled and made a shape with his magic that complemented that of Francis' cannon ball quite nicely. No way in hell was Francis going to harm those little children, not on Kiku's watch.

Francis saw Kiku, poised with his 'weapon of choice' swaying behind his head as he found his footing on the gravel covered iron beneath his slippers. Neither of the Bishops were wearing armor; the heavy metal clothing was of no use to either of them, as the magic would have the same effect with or without the protective covering and it would just slow them both down. The White Bishop smiled and wound up his arm, throwing the Black Bishop a fast ball. Kiku responded with a swing, sending the ball plummeting right back to Francis. The magic hit the ground right before him and exploded, sending the White Bishop backwards with the same amount of force the Kiku had experienced earlier - only difference you ask?

Francis hit a tree so hard, with his neck twisted in just the right way, that he was knocked out cold; his soldiers ran to his assistance immediately. Kiku grabbed chunks of his bat and threw them at the escaping soldiers. On their way, the chunks shaped and sharpened themselves to resemble very long, flat spear heads. A couple knocked a few soldiers away, though their real purpose was just to send them running with their tails between their legs.

Kiku's eyes spangled with a fierce spark as he looked down on the soldiers pounding on the gate; they all stopped and looked up at him. The Black Bishop smirked, his eyes shimmering red, as he raised his staff and aimed. No man near the Northwest Tower even had a chance to breathe before Kiku released a blood red lightning bolt, thick as a city street, from the end of his staff. For a single moment, the world stopped and watched as the bolt consumed the battalion fifty feet below the Bishop. Every Golden soldier was fried; no blood, no guts, no repulsive gunk, just lots and lots of ashes.

The Black Bishop sighed, taking a moment to regain his strength. Soldier nor soul would dare come near this wall again.

* * *

><p>The sun was just beginning to break over the gently sloping horizon and give it's warmth to the world. None of the gates had been penetrated; shockingly, Francis was the only one who had done much damage to a gate and he hadn't even been aiming for one. The Silver Kingdom lost about 200 lives that night, but the Golden Kingdom only had about 200 lives <em>left<em>.

Rodderich found Sebastian Starring hollow-eyed at a pile of soldiers with glazed white eyes. Battle had never really affected the young man so drastically before; Rodderich concluded it was because this was the first _real_ battle he'd ever fought in. At Manatul, he'd been talking to Peter for most of it. But he'd seen men slain today, slaughtered like chickens with their skin plucked clean, he'd seen the men writing on the bloody mud as sweltering oil charred their skin.

Liz gently came up to him and laid her fond hand on his armored shoulder. He turned to look at her, and the two fell into each other's arms. Rodderich gathered them up tenderly and led his wife and foster son away towards the South Gate.

Lovino, Lars, and Emil had to convince Kiku that no one else was coming ear the wall, that the battle was over and no they had to go talk some things over. The Black Bishop's eyes were still flaming a noxious shade of red, but after a while, he set Shishi on watch to guard the wall and notify him immediately if anything was set out of place.

The Silver Monarchy – minus Ludwig (who had stayed true to his word and not left the Palace) – was outside the South Gate, ready to confront Alfred head-on. Ivan and Arthur were trying to get Alfred to his feet while Yao said in silent vigil – for once. The Golden King was on his knees, staring at the ground in a hopeless state of confusion and horror. Francis was still unconscious and was being cared for with the rest of the wounded soldiers a couple hundred yards off. Alfred's heart was dashed, that was made clear by the sheer amount of stubbornness he was portraying.

Feliciano stepped forward and kneeled in the bloodied, soggy mud; Ivan and Arthur backed up a step to give the Black and White Kings some space. Feli tipped his head so he could look into Alfred's other-worldly gawk with his own placid amber gaze. "What a pair we make, eh?" he said softly.

Alfred looked up and said in a chokingly painful voice, "Feli, this has to stop."

Feliciano hid back a smile and stood, offering his gauntleted hand out to Alfred. The White King looked at it for a moment in slight disgust before he took it and stood. "How do you propose we do that?" Feli asked.

Alfred looked to be at a loss for words. He looked over his shoulder for support from the rest of his Monarchy when he stopped. The West King looked back and forth between Yao and Ivan for a moment, then looked to a perplexed Arthur. Alfred's gaze brightened as he turned and asked, "How about a marriage?"

"Marriage?" Feli asked. "Between who?"

Alfred gathered the others around him and the four began to speak in hushed whispers. Feli turned to his own Monarchy and said, "They want a marriage."

Emil cleared his throat and shuffled his feet at this statement. Feli looked to him and said, "You'd do this, Emil?"

He cleared his throat louder and said, "I don't want to sound hasty, sir, but you know I would give my life for my Kingdom. But whether it's by the sword or the ring, that is your choice."

Feliciano nodded and motioned for Emil to come back towards the Golden Monarchy. Alfred and Feli faced each other and the Black King said, "Emil said he would put down his future for the good of the Four Kingdoms."

Alfred smiled; but the way he smiled made Feliciano think there was more to that discreet grin than met the eye. "As it so happens," he began, "the only Pawn of my Monarchy not yet married is Natalia. She will be your bride, Emil."

Emil's face paled considerably as Ivan stepped forward and gently patted him on the head – gently for a giant of his colossal size. "You'll look after my little sister well, da?" he said with that childish smile. When he turned and walked back to Alfred, Emil must've shrunk by about two or so inches.

A soldier brought the White Monarchy's horses around; Alfred called over his should when he was settled in his saddle, "I'll send a scout with the correct papers."

As they rode away with whatever was left of their regiment, Feliciano turned to Emil. The Pawn was holding his belly, crouched over in a hunchbacked position. "Emil?" Feli asked in concern.

He quoted Kiku. "My belly. It hurts."

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><p><strong>OOOOOOOOOOOOH! BAAAAD Denmark! <strong>_**Bad!**_** well, with finishing up **_**To Kill A Mockingbird**_** in english and these saturday rehearsals for drama, this chapter's taken me about two-and-a-half weeks to write. so so so so so sorry guys.**

**In other news: WHOOOOP! HELL YEA! SEVENTEEN PAGES, BITCHES!**

**[[PSSSSST! i drew you guys a little comic for the conversation in the end. the link to our deviantart's in our profile]]**

**Points of Interest:**

1st - Jens: he really isn't anyone you guys would know. I guess you could call him an OC.

2nd - Kristian: I guess I kinda imagined Kristian as looking and acting a lot like Germania . . . I dunno, Gigantor's and Jens' appearances are left to your imagination.

3rd - Flødebollers: they're like, the best Danish pastry/treat thing EEEEEVVVVVVEEEEERRRRR! Well, at least that's what I've heard (would love to try one someday). They're wafers with cream/marshmellowy goodness on them AAALLLLL coated in chocolate – I think. AMAZING~~~~! *eager nomnomnomnomnom*

4th - Translations: sorry about all the Danish and Norwegian in this chapter guys, but I really don't feel like giving you all the translations. just use google translate; that's what I did. I apologize ahead of time if they don't come out clearly.

5th - Battalion: I don't know if I mentioned this already and quite frankly I'm too lazy to go and check if it did, but a battalion is 300-1300 soldiers. so Feli's got about 6000ish (regiment/brigade) on his side and Alfred's got about 6500. They both have a bit more than a regiment (3000-5000); the stakes are pretty much even.

6th - The Black City: because the Silver Kingdom is abundant in both silver _and_ iron, they'd traded most of their silver for money and now they rely mostly on their iron; it's so abundant that they were able to make the entire wall around the Black City out of solid iron.

7th - Sign Language: in ASL (American Sign Language), the adjective comes _after_ the noun it describes, so if you wanna sign "red coat", the order you'd sign it in would be "coat red".

8th - Red Coats: a play off Iggy's uniform during the American Revolution.

9th - Trebuchet: it's a different kind of catapult.

10th - Francis' and Kiku's Magical Battle: when you need to protect a great score of women and children from a perverted bitch, have the most epic battle of baseball ever to be fought in the history since before baseball on a battlefield. Naws, I love Protective-Kiku.

11th - Kingdom's Names: I know the colors may be kinda confusing. Feli's Kingdom can go by the name 'black kingdom', 'silver kingdom', or 'blue kingdom'. Alfred's Kingdom can be called the 'golden kingdom', 'white kingdom', or the 'red kingdom'. Therefore, each member of the monarchy can be called that color/the direction they were given (ie: Kiku Black Bishop, Blue Bishop, Silver Bishop, East Bishop. Francis Golden Bishop, Red Bishop, White Bishop, West Bishop.)

12th - Emil: Iceland.

13 - Shishi: yesyes, i know: i used a chinese guard lion for japan /shot. i needed him to have a little pet that could appear at random times kinda like norway's troll. just look them up, i really don't know how to explain them.

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><p><strong>Blue: Wow, that was . . . kinda depressing. Where'd you get the inspiration for this one Blu?<strong>

**. . . . **

**Blue: *looks around* Blu?**

**Blu: *sniff*quietly* it's just so sad . . . . . . **

**Blue: Blu! . . . . What the hell are you doing over there in the corner?**

**Blu: *sniff***

**Blue: O.O oh. no.**

**Blu: *in tears* NO ONE LOVES US!**

**Blue: GASP - He's losing faith in you guys! Hurry up before he goes suicidal on me! There's no way I'll be able to write this thing all by myself: HE'S THE CREATIVE ONE! He CAN'T die!**

**Blu: Blue . . . **

**Blue: What?**

**Blu: *dramatic spotlight* and at LAST I see the light~~~~**

**Blue: AHHH! NO BLU! *grabs and shakes* DON'T GO TOWARDS THE LIGHT! REACH FOR THE BEEER!**

**Blu: I'm trying Blue, but there's just no hope anymore.**

**Blue: *slaps* GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF BLU! How much love do you need to go on?**

**Blu: . . . . .**

**Blue: *eye-twitch*to audience* FIVE MORE REVIEWS OR BLU'S GONNA DIE AND THEN THIS THING'LL NEVER BE FINISHED! (and please try to make the comment kinda specific, not just an 'ohmigosh BLU! umumum, I love the story plz update')**


	7. Chapter 6: Stephanotis

******NOTICE: go back and read the DenmarkxNorway in the last chapter. I edited it so that Norway is more of a brat and also so the bad thing I'm gonna do to him in chapter 12 would fit better, k?******

**Blue: Alright people, thanks to your reviews and support, Blu made it out ok.**

**Blu: *smiles softly*holding icepack to head* How'd you guys like the comic? They probably won't be colored and computerfied in the future. I like them better in pen. We'll upload another one for you guys soon.**

**Blue: um, I guess this is kind of a warning, but there's a teensy-weensy bit of almost-smut in this chapter.**

**Blu: It's not bad guys, don't worry.**

**Blue: Enjoy the (short) chapter.**

**.**

**.**

**.**

**Blu: teehee, you guys are gonna hate us for chapter 12 . . . . . .**

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><p>Feliciano signed and stood, handing the pen gently to Emil. "All that's left to be done is your signature."<p>

Emil sighed, took the pen, and stared at the form. He stared at it for so long that Feliciano joked, "I know; shocked me too."

"What?" Emil looked at him with a raised brow and crinkled face.

"There are forms for this kind of thing."

Emil let out a small chuckle and looked back at the paper; his smile disappeared immediately. "Feli, I just don't know about this." he managed to say.

"I know, I know." Feli dismissed the topic lightly; unfortunately, Emil didn't want to quit.

"That _witch_?" he gasped as he straightened, tossed the pen on the table and shook his head. "Why'd they pick _her_?"

Feliciano shrugged. "We have no room to complain, Emil. It was their choice."

"But she probably doesn't even _want_ to go through with this. You've seen the way she looks at _Ivan_." Emil shuddered and Feli rubbed the back of his neck with an awkward look on his face. "She'll never admit it, but I call that incest - to the extreme."

"I know it is." Feliciano added.

Emil continued, "She just downright _stalks_ him! I have to feel a bit bad for Ivan, but she's . . . she's just so - so . . ."

"Emil." Feli insisted. "Please, just . . . sign the paper. I promise: everything will turn out fine."

Emil signed, chewing his lip for a good ten seconds before looking at the parchment wearily. He picked up the pen with a shaking hand and scribbled his signature on the desired line.

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><p>The wedding was really . . . kind of uneventful. There were no cheers, applause, not even the slightest whisper of a mouse's whiskers when the priest proclaimed them "eternally bound". Natalia barely even touched Emil when they were made to kiss. Feliciano had to glare at his hands and mentally scream at them to get them up and clapping. There was a small round of applause - which only seemed to make the aura that much more awkward. Out of the corner of his eye, Feliciano could see Rodderich elbow Sebastian harshly when the squire rubbed his eyes with a tired hand.<p>

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><p>Mathias received the news a day later. He stood in awestruck wonder for a little while before running out to the "jail" and pulling Lukas out to the open grass. The Pawn shouted something in his own perceived language before the Bronze Knight set him down.<p>

"What the hell is going on, you damn Viking?" Lukas yelled, bunching his fists and looking up at Mathias with a swollen glare.

"You're going home and out of my hair, that's _what_!" Mathias snapped back at him.

"Pfft!" Lukas retorted, crossing his arms. "Like I'd want to be in that wild forest on your head that you call h-" Lukas stopped. "Wait . . . what'd you just say?"

"You're. _Going_. _HOME_!" Mathias growled. Lukas shut up immediately, and Mathias continued. "The war's over."

Lukas furrowed his brow. "That fast? Who won?"

Mathias straightened and put his hands on his belt. "No one. There's been a marriage."

"Between who?"

"Gosh, you're full of questions."

"_Pokker dat_, _WHO_?"

Mathias sighed and rubbed his chin, looking down at the ground in thought. "I think the messenger said it was Natalia of the Gold Kingdom and . . ." He stopped. "I think it was Emil of the . . ." Mathias trailed off when he looked up and saw the mortified look in Lukas' eyes. "Something wrong?"

Lukas blinked and whispered "Holy shit." to himself before he ran off to the jail again. Mathias raised a brow in confusion and followed, easily keeping pace with the shorter man with his long stride.

Jens looked up from his conversation and grabbed Lukas by the shoulders, steadying him as a stalwart cord of swears came pouring from his mouth in still whispers. "What happened?" Jens dared to ask.

Lukas raised his head and stared Jens in the eye, a horrified look taken to severe extremities crossing his once-placid indigo eyes. "Emil - married - _NATALIA_!" he shouted, shaking Jens furiously.

Jens and all the other Silver soldiers paled considerably. "Why?" Jens croaked after a moment of silence.

Lukas answered, beginning his frantic pacing, "How the hell am I supposed to know? Emil - poor Emil. What's gonna happen to him?"

"Sir, sir," Jens said, "just try to calm down, sir."

Lukas didn't hear him and just kept mumbling to himself as he paced. "Why'd he marry that bitch in the first place? What's the _matter_ with him? Emil, I swear, when I get back, you're gonna wish hell itself was the one after you-" Lukas continued to spew anger and worry from his mouth - kind of similar to the way a volcano spewed ash and lava.

The Silver company looked to Mathias and Kristian, leaning on the boulder's on either side of the entrance; the two large men stood in rapt incredulity at the amount of emotion they were obtaining from the placid Pawn.

"He's just worrying about his brother, that's all." Jens explained to the Bronze knights as he inched his way past his volatile leader.

"Emil is his brother?" Mathias croaked in a quiet voice.

Jens nodded. "Aye."

Kristian said, shaking his head slightly without taking his eyes off of Lukas, "I can't decide if I should be calling this behavior 'overprotective' or 'abusive'."

Jens tightened the muscles in his neck and licked his lips. "A bit of a stretch, but it's definitely overprotective."

"How do you know _that_?" Kristian asked, raising a brow in Jens' direction.

"Lukas has always been . . . very protective of his little brother. It's always been obvious that Emil is the only one he really truly cares for."

Mathias was the one touched by this statement. "What do you mean by that?"

Jens rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Well," be began, "Lukas _does_ try to care a little bit for the other members of the Monarchy. Not so much the Knight, his Squire, the Rook, or the Bishop; a bit for the Queen, North Pawn, and Feliciano. But Emil has a positive and negative effect on his life, that's obvious to see. Lukas has always been taking care of him, so it's only natural that Lukas would act like a father when Emil chose to get married."

Lukas heard the last little snippet of that sentence ("chose to get married") and began a whole new rant. "Emil? _Choosing_, _VOLUNTARILY_, to marry that demon? Oh hoHO! I don't think so, Jens!"

"Sir, sir, please, I didn't mean it like that!" Jen's held up in hands in defense, but Lukas seemed to have lost control of all of his senses, natural and common.

Mathias butted in, "I was told from a reliable source that both Natalia and Emil signed the papers willingly." Mathias just meant the comment to get Lukas to stop, but little did he know his statement was actually half true.

Lukas looked at him with a glare worse than death and shouted, "Bullshit! Emil wouldn't do that! He'd know who he'd be marrying before he even _thought_ about signing a damn marriage form."

"There are forms for that?" Kristian's question went unnoticed as Lukas continued his rant. Although the rest of it was in his native tongue, Mathias felt as if he could identify several swears in that string of words.

But it was when Lukas had to stop for breath and Jens tried to calm him down a bit that the Pawn got _reaaaaaally _mad. Every other word was a cuss word, it seemed. Mathias reached forward and pulled Lukas close, a palm over his mouth and fingers pinching his nose while the other arm kept his arms pinned to his sides. Lukas struggled for about a minute, mumbling incoherent words, before his lids drifted over his watery eyes and closed. Lukas went limp.

"What'd you do to him?" Jens asked as Mathias gently took his hand away and checked to make sure if the West Pawn was still breathing.

"He was over-reacting." Mathias stated plainly. "He should be fine when he wakes up." Mathias picked Lukas up bridal style and carried him back to his tent.

Kristian followed him and asked as Mathias set the Pawn down on the cot, "Sir, what do we do about the company?"

"Lukas can make those decisions and confirm them with me directly when he wakes up. For now, don't do a thing." Mathias ushered Kristian out of the tent and closed the flap only after one final look at the sleeping Pawn.

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><p>Emil was looking for Natalia. They'd had the wedding at the Golden City only because there were two unsaid complaints from Natalia. The first was that she most definitely did not want to be married in such a place as the Black Palace. The second was one that Emil guessed himself: she didn't want to marry him in the first place. He was a bit disappointed with the fact that she downright avoided him; I mean, he <em>was<em> Natalia's husband after all. But would _she_ ever see it that way?

Emil shook his head: of course not. He sighed and looked up to the extravagantly painted ceiling in a form of complete and utter despair; his "wife" really was the master of stealth. And stalking, but, that little snippet of information isn't vital to the situation at this moment in time.

Since they'd been married, Emil was given about a days-worth of a "honeymoon" with her; he'd been given an opportunity to "study" her habits. They were out in the large colorful gardens wandering some paths in the gentle light of the day. Out of every question he'd asked her, she'd given him a smart, curt answer with hardly even a glance: obvious she didn't care. Whenever he made a comment about something around them, she'd nodded her head in the slightest way and looked away from Emil: obvious whatever he said didn't matter. When he'd made a comment about the way she was (very pretty in the dress she was wearing, she was looking lovely today, etc) she gave him a blank look that seemed to be filled to the brim with suspicion: obvious she didn't like him. But when he'd thanked her for agreeing to marry him and made a comment about how there would have been other suitors more fitted to her taste than he, her look changed completely. Emil was surprised at first: he'd thought if Natalia had reacted at all that she'd come after him with her cat-like talons and noxious glower.

Nope. Exactly the opposite. That look she'd given him from the previous point seemed to soften deeply if you looked at her the right way. The Pawn didn't know how to describe it, but she seemed to . . . understand. Now what she understood exactly was beyond Emil, but he nevertheless felt a small prick to his heart at seeing her reduced to that level of pity - if you could even call it that. But before he'd had the chance to say anything more, she stood abruptly, excused herself softly, and left in a flurry of lace, silk, and pale hair among the roses, azaleas, and vines.

Emil sat back on the bench they'd stopped at. One problem solved, another started: Emil sure wasn't afraid of Natalia anymore, that was for sure. But now, something was deeply bothering him, and he had to figure it out as soon as possible.

That incident had been two days ago. He hadn't seen her since.

So now, Emil was wandering around the Golden Palace, getting himself lost, looking for his wife.

"Hey!"

Emil looked up to see a boy of no more than ten or eleven years old skipping toward him; a seagull, chubby as a bloated marshmallow, waddled behind him on bright orange, webbed feet that were almost too big for his skinny little legs. "Hello there." Emil said with a small smile, looking down as the boy stopped in front of him.

"Hi." said the boy. He looked up at Emil with large blue eyes and asked, "You're that guy, right?"

Emil furrowed his brow lightly and asked, "What guy?"

"You know: the guy who ended the war. That's you? You married Vodka's younger sister?"

"Oh, oh yes, that's me."

The boy picked up his rotund seagull and put a little blue and white sailor hat with a ribbon trailing off of it on the gull's head. He looked up and asked, "Why'd you marry her? She's pretty scary."

Emil gulped and ran his fingers through his pale hair. "Um . . ." How would he explain this to some random ten-year-old with a wide, bright gaze? "Well, I didn't know I would be marrying Natalia until it was too late. You understand what I mean, doncha buddy?"

The boy nodded. "I think so. Sebastian tried to explain it to me when I asked him about it."

"Wait - . . . you know Sebastian?"

The boy nodded.

"Ooooh, then you must be Peter, eh?" Emil said with a smile.

The boy smiled and nodded vigorously. "Mmhmm. This is Sir Duckfluff." Peter offered his seagull forward in his smallish hands. Emil smiled and took the offered bird gently. "I just got him back yesterday."

Emil chuckled as the gull pecked his cheek playfully. "I have a bird myself. He's a puffin." he said.

"Really? Where is he?"

"He's back at the Black Palace."

"Oh. What are you doing out here anyway?"

"I'm looking for Natalia. Have you seen her?"

Peter was just about to give an answer when there was a sharp "Peter!" from off down the hall a ways. The two looked to see Arthur striding towards them. Peter gasped and grabbed Sir Duckfluff hurriedly, turning around to run in the opposite direction. Arthur reached them before Peter had a chance to go anywhere and grabbed the back of his shirt with a black gloved fist.

"What did I tell you?" Arthur snapped, turning Peter back toward him.

"I already polished your stupid armor!" Peter whined. When Arthur raised a brow and lowered the other dramatically, Peter stopped for a moment, hugged Sir Duckfluff closer and tighter and bawled, "Father, please! Don't take Sir Duckfluff away again!"

"Peter, don't talk to me like that." Arthur said. He must have attempted a gentle approach, but the way his words came out sounded threatening. "Now cummon. Stop bothering Emil."

"Arthur, Arthur!" Emil started, holding out a hand as the Knight began to usher Peter away. "Arthur, it's my fault Peter's not doing whatever it is he's supposed to be doing. I was the one who distracted him; I'm just looking for Natalia. I haven't seen her for a while, so I asked Peter if he'd seen her or not."

Arthur scowled, as if disapproving that the Pawn was standing up for Peter - against him. "Then he should have given you a curt answer and hurried along to his duties."

Peter mumbled something and Arthur snapped, "Don't slur your words when you talk, Peter."

Peter said a couple octaves higher, "I think I saw Natalia in the South Wing!"

Arthur narrowed his eyes and said without taking his eyes off the top of his son's head, "Good day, Emil." He nudged Peter forward and the boy began his solemn march; Sir Duckfluff was trembling as he tried to hide his head under Peter's coat to shield his eyes from the intimidating figure above them.

Emil watched them go with sad eyes. _That poor little guy_, Emil thought. No wonder Sebastian always seemed to be worrying for him. But he'd have to worry about the Golden Squire later. The task at hand? Find Natalia.

Emil ran to the South Wing of the Golden Palace - and just nearly avoided crashing into Kiku. "Kiku!" Emil exclaimed. "Um, have you seen Natalia? I can't seem to find her anywhere."

The Black Bishop nodded in that polite, curt way of his. "Hai. I saw her going around the corner just there not but a minute ago." Kiku shifted his staff eloquently to one arm while pointing behind the Pawn with the other, the thick, heavy brocades and velvets of his black and cerulean robes swaying with defiant swagger.

The West Pawn gave his thanks and jogged to the bend in the infinite white marble halls. He stopped and shouted protectively, "Natalia!"

The North Pawn had her brother up against a pillar, her icy hands slithering up his broad, intimidating chest. The two looked to Emil; Ivan shouted back, his eyes clouded with worry, "Emil!" Natalia didn't say a word as she took a small step away from the babbling Ivan. "This - this - _gulp_ - this isn't what it looks like-"

"Natalia," Emil said gently, laying a soft hand on his wife's shoulder. "I would like to talk to Ivan for a minute. Can I meet you out in the gardens?"

Natalia gave him that look again (it appeared to deepen this time, though) right before she gave a small nod and walked away, her head bowed ever so slightly.

Emil looked to Ivan, who held up his hands in defense and was about to start up his blabbing again when the Pawn said, "I know it's going to be hard to do, but please, try to resist Natalia's . . . addicts. I know she's your sister, but now she's my wife, and everything she does effects me directly."

Ivan was at a stunning loss for words. No one had ever stood up to him like that before, and especially when the topic was his little sister. He gasped like a fish for a moment before clenching his fists and nodding. The Rook walked off down the hall before Emil could say any more.

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><p>Emil gave a great sigh of hopelessness. This was the third time he'd "lost" Natalia within the week. What would happen if this kept up? The Pawn didn't want to go searching for her every day of the rest of his life.<p>

The first day, Monday, it was just up against a pillar. The next time, two days after that - Wednesday - Natalia had Ivan pinned to the arm of his own couch, advancing towards him with such a nature of lust in her gaze Ivan nearly snapped. The next day, today, a _Thursday_ to be specific, Emil was looking for her all over again.

"Francis!"

The Bishop turned around and looked to the Pawn running towards him. "Francis, would you please help me find Natalia?"

Francis smiled. "Of course, mon ami. This is the third time, non?" he said as they continued to walk.

Emil nodded, recognizing the route they were taking: the two men were heading to Ivan's room once again. "Yeah."

"Ahh," Francis sighed. It was a long way to Ivan's room from their current position. They walked in silence for about two full halls.

Emil's mind wandered back to his first search, to that little boy. Peter, was his name? Yes! That was it, it was Peter and his chubby gull Sir Duckfluff. Then his mind flashed to Arthur. Emil asked, "Francis?"

"Hon~?"

"What- . . . why is Arthur so tough on Peter?"

Francis thought for a moment before saying, "Well, Arthur _is _Peter's father, after all-"

"But, why is he so hard on him?" Emil asked.

By now, they had reached the Rook's room. Francis grabbed the door knob as he said, "I believe that is a question for the Knight himself."

Emil sighed. "I guess you're right."

Francis gave a small smile and opened the door. The two looked into the brightly lit room and their eyes widened. Emil paled to the pastel color of his hair while Francis gave a deep-throated, hearty "Honhon_HON_~~"

Natalia, thirsty for desire as ever, had Ivan's hands pinned above his head. She was leaving large, noticeable red spots all over his collar and neck. Ivan was sweating like a pig all spiced up and ready to be slaughtered.

Emil ran straight to the West Wing. The whole Palace would hear of this treachery by nightfall.

* * *

><p>When Alfred received this news, his was holding an extravagant vase ready to be put on display in the Great Hall. He threw the vase halfway across the room where it shattered into thousands of millions of pieces. Arthur had to take a step back so the vase wouldn't knock him in the cheek on its route to the tiles.<p>

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><p>Mathias was finishing up with the sharpening of his ax's blade; he handed the thing to Kristian and stood, walking up to Lukas, ready to mount his large rusty gelding. "Well, all set?" the Viking asked, patting the horse's flank.<p>

"I've been ready since the moment you brought us here." Lukas growled.

Mathias ignored the fowl response and said, "I hope your brother's alright, being . . . bound to Natalia as he is."

"Emil can take care of himself just fine." Lukas snapped.

"Then why are you so damn worried about him?"

Lukas didn't answer. He mounted the horse and shouted to his company to move out.

Mathias had to admit, he was a bit sad to see Lukas go. He had no reason _why_ this phenomenon was possible, but it was happening.

As the last couple of soldiers filed out into the forest, something hit Mathias in the back - hard. The Knight spun around to see a scout. The man held up a scroll with a robotic arm and Mathias snatched it out of his hand, unrolling it with annoyance. Skimming it, Mathias had to reread it twice more very carefully before his face paled. "KRISTIAN!" he shouted in alarm, crumpling the parchment and looking around frantically.

His second ran up to him in a hurry and had the chance to open his mouth and begin a reply when Mathias grabbed his ax from Kristian's arms. The Bronze Knight told him sternly. "Get that company back!"

Kristian furrowed his brow in confusion and followed Mathias as he ran to get his horse. "But sir, you let them go-"

"Doesn't matter. The truce is over and if those soldiers reach the border, it's gonna be _MY_ head, Kristian! We'll all be executed for letting them go voluntarily."

"But sir, if the truce was still up when they left-"

"The letter says the wedding ended two DAYS ago! GET. THEM. BACK!"

Kristian nodded after a couple seconds and raised his horn to his lips.

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><p>Lukas heard a deep-throated roar and yanked his horse to a sharp stop. He turned in his saddle and squinted, peering through the mist and pale sunlight of the morning forest around the company. Shapes began to come from the mist; at the head of the Bronze knights was Kristian.<p>

_Figures_.

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><p>"So you came back without much of a fight, did ya?" Mathias asked, looking up at Lukas. The Pawn scowled a savage grimace and tore his foot out of the stirrup, planting the sole of his boot brutally into Mathias' face. A couple soldiers caught the Knight as he fell backwards. Mathias glared back at him and reached up, pulling Lukas from the saddle by his collar.<p>

Lukas stared up into Mathias' painfully bright, icy blue eyes and growled, "Why?"

Mathias brought his face into a deep glower. "The truce has ended. Your brother is no longer married to Natalia. Happy?"

The Pawn spat a glob of sour slaver into the grass at Mathias' feet and replied, "Not so long as I'm here."

Mathias gave a wicked smile and said, "Good." He threw the Pawn into Kristian's arms and the knight hauled him away. Lukas, Jens, and the rest of the company were thrown back into the crude jail.

Mathias looked away and rubbed his face; _Shit, that hurt!_

* * *

><p>The dead of night; only about two lazy, tired knights guarded the jail walls. The rest of the Prissy Vikings were dead asleep. Lukas had gathered his company, and though he could barely see his own hand in front of his face, he whispered, "Can everyone hear?" There was a soft chorus of "yeah"s that rose up from the men around him. Lukas exhaled and began, "Men, we're gonna be stuck here till the war ends – <em>quiet<em>!" he hissed, stopping the murmur that arose. He continued, "The Prissy Vikings are no doubt going to want us to help them fight against the Silver or Platinum troops. Will we let them brainwash us into doing so?"

"No." his men whispered back.

"What will we do to resist them, then? Hm?" When no one gave an audible response, Lukas growled softly, "We do _nothing_."

Jens let out a soft snort and said, " 'Nothing' ?"

"You may think I'm joking, Jens." Lukas said, his voice telling the others to be cautious of what they said. "But I can assure you I most definitely am not. If the Prissy Vikings think they can boss us around, they're one hundred percent _wrong_. From this moment onwards, men, I don't want you to do a _thing_. Sit around, talk, but don't do anything that will give the Vikings a boost, not unless I say so. Got it?"

"Yes sir!" they chanted softly.

* * *

><p><strong>Blu: O.O <strong>

**Blue: Yes?**

**Blu: D u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u u d e . . . . . . **

**Blue: *rolls eyes* What is it Blu?**

**Blu: There ISN'T a crap-ton of things we have to explain at the end of this chapter . . . **

**Blue: O.O whoa . . . . that's a first.**

**Blu: How'd you guys like it? Good? ****I didn't mean to make England seem mean when he's talking to Emil and Peter. It just sorta turned out that way.**

**Blue: Ten virtual cookies to anyone who can get the symbolism of the broken vase! (though it may become clearer later on . . .)**

**Blu: Rate and Review!**


	8. Chapter 7: Coriander

**psssssst! teeehee, guess what guys?**

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***awesomewhisper* I WROTE CHAPTER 9 BEFORE I FINISHED WITH CHAPTER 8! *mwahahahahaha!* so you get this chapter first. The order doesn't matter in the first place anyway . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . (teehee)**

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><p><strong>Blu: damnit, I've been waiting forEVERRRRRRR to write this chapter! I swear, we'll have more Sealand in chapter 11, for those of you out there who love him. It's a pretty big chapter, now that I think about it (chappy11) . . .<strong>

**Blue: I still think it's weird who you paired Denmark with . . . . . **

**Blu: O.o wait . . . ****! YOU LOOKED AT MY STORY MAPS!**

**Blue: You left them sitting on the table, what was I supposed to do.**

**Blu: -_- well, thanks for telling them about the spoiler. And NOOOOOO, Denny does most definitely NOT end up with ***** in the end! It's just a plot point!**

**Blue: A really really really really really really surprising plot point. I never would have guessed. Really.**

**Blu: STOP SPOILING EVERYTHING! *takes out bazooka***

**Blue: How'd you get a hold of mai bazooka?**

**Blu: This one isn't yours. I have mai own.**

**Blue: Really? Since when? And who gave it to you?**

**Blu: *Poland mode* Since, like, 4evaaaaaa. Wolf, Chibi and I, like, totally went shopping together.**

**Blue: -.- and you bought a bazooka?**

**Blu: *hugging bazooka protectively* IT WAS ON SALE!**

**Blue: *face-palm* wow, you really are the girl part of BFTL's brain . . . . . **

**Blu: Well anyway *points bazooka back at Blue* enjoy the chapter guys!**

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><p><strong>Chapter <strong>**9 (um, I guess now it's 8?) - Boss**

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><p>The night was dark, a stark contrast to the blaring lights of the inn before him. Alfred knew why he was here, where he was going, and all the junk in between. But what he didn't know was how his "target" would react. His visit was unannounced, and he had been previously warned of said target's . . . um . . . . "<em>addictions<em>".

Alfred tied his horse to the pole they had posted outside and walked into the noisy room. The main common room was so loud Alfred couldn't even hear the heavy thud of his boots on the creaking wooden floorboards. He squeezed his way past a wide variety of men – a wider variety Alfred never thought he'd ever see again – and to the bar, where he asked the bartender the name of his target. The bartender gave him a blank stare, but only until Alfred lazily pulled a small pouch off his belt and let the thing clank to the counter. The money was probably more than the kid would ever see in his life, and he spent a couple seconds staring at it before snatching it up greedily and motioning to the staircase over in the corner. "V." he said. Alfred didn't bother to thank him. Hey, of course he could spend absurd amounts of money on this kinda thing: he _waaaas_ King, after all.

The stairs and boards creaked under his expensive boots as he ascended and **wound** through the few hallways they had upstairs. Alfred ended up on the third level of rooms, at the door of a room from which emitted a couple muffled, barely-audible moans. On the door, a single letter was printed in large script: _V_. The West King hesitated; what the hell was he going to do, just open the door? Who knew what the hell was happening in there. Knock? No, that'd make him look stupid, and he was a King: looking stupid wasn't coming up on his agenda anytime soon. He finally decided against the knocking and went for the "just open the damn door!" approach.

The room was entirely dark, except for a sliver of moonlight that decided to peek through the leaves of the outside and shine through the window. Though in the dark, Alfred could make out three shapes: a night stand, a bed, and a strangely large, disfigured shape that the King finally decided was two different people. There were two occupants that had claimed the room as theirs: a young girl and a man. The girl was on the bed on her hands and knees; the man was arched over her back, whispering and growling into her ear, hands smoothing over her silk-covered belly and waist like his career specialized in this kind of thing. He looked like he had her pretty much pinned.

"Da?" the man asked nonchalantly, not bothering to stop his hands or his head rocking back and forth across the girl's neck and shoulders.

"Voltaj, isn't it?" Alfred (finally) managed to say.

"Yea. _A__nd_?"

"I have a job for you." Alfred replied to the nonchalant character.

"I'm occupied."

Alfred was started to get extremely annoyed. Instead of replying, he unlatched the large, bulging sack from his belt and threw it at the pair. Voltaj reached up with an arm and caught the thing without even trying; it was only when the bag was safely in his hand that he looked up from the whimpering girl's neck – well, not really "look up" it was just more of a "tilt the head in a different direction" kind of move. He put the bag to his nose and sniffed, taking in its scent, though what that accomplished baffled Alfred to no end. "Occupation?" the man asked without opening his eyes.

"Extermination."

"Price."

The last one was more of a demand than a question, even though he had the money firmly in his hand and already seemed to guess the large sum, but it made Alfred's reaction a bit more threatening: "You'll have your money when the job is completed."

"I'll _have _my money," the man demanded, using a surprisingly sharp tone when compared to his blasé attitude seconds before, "now. Or I won't take a glance your way."

Alfred furrowed his brow and gave an agitated sigh. "Take it."

"I'll be with you in a minute."

And the door closed, forcing Alfred to back away hurriedly for fear of getting his boots scraped and his nose squashed.

* * *

><p>The assassin licked his lips and called, tightening his grip on the girl's waist, "Yong Soo."<p>

The assassin's assistant stepped, literally, from the shadows, his small black horns gleaming and his spaded tail waving gently. "Boss?"

The assassin clacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and tossed him the sack. Yong Soo caught it with the same amount of _da-ze_ as the assassin had previously. "We're back in business." The assassin growled as he looked to the girl's neck again, that sweet succulent area, his canine teeth getting longer and sharper and more terrifying by the millisecond until they were fully-grown fangs, like those you'd find on a tiger or a bear or a vampire bat. . . .

The girl, the victim, didn't even have a chance to scream for help as the assassin pulled her up by her hair, yanking her head back so forcefully that her neck broke. The victim hung limp in her vampire's arms as he sank his fangs into the crook of her neck. Yong Soo winked at the curl protruding from the shaggy bangs drooping over his forehead, and the curl, with its own set of tiny little horns and crooked smile, winked back at him.

A drop of blood never hit the floor that night.

* * *

><p>"Calm down, Soo." The assassin hissed through his fangs as the two traveled through the dark shadows and crevices of the Black Palace's interior. "It's not like anyone's gonna catch us. We've been given the easiest environment to work in."<p>

Yong Soo's eyes, two red splotches on a shadow that followed his boss around as he flew high to the ceilings, shrank. "Don't give me that _look_." The assassin hissed back.

"Boss, I don't like this place."

The assassin laughed. "You're a demon who at one point lived in hell and now you've been sent up to earth to do even more damage to the human race, what could possibly scare you?"

"And you're a vampire-once-boy who, through extravagant means, sold your soul and were therefore cursed with no soul or heart and were given the task to drink the blood of others to quench your eternal thirst, what's new?"

"Shut up, Soo."

They traveled in silence for a couple of beats before the assassin asked, "Where is he?"

"Should be in the next room on the right, Boss."

The assassin, sweeping low to gain enough speed, shot through the open doorway, the tips of his ears brushing the arch of the doorway. Conveniently, the occupant of the room was not facing the door in the first place. The assassin flew up to a dark corner of the room, a top a towering bookcase, and peered over the edge at their victim: a young man with auburn hair, a handsome face, and partially graying features was sleeping on the desk, head resting on his folded arms. And the way his head was positioned gave the assassin a clear view of his neck.

"Perfect." the assassin said, licking his sharpened fangs. The task at hand was now relatively simple: swoop down, dig claws into the cartilage disks between the North King's spine bones, make sure the vertebrae snap, leave and be happy with the huge sum of money he didn't have any real use for. Hey, what was the point of having money if you couldn't die and the only thing you needed was human blood (which caused you to go insane and turn into a barbaric serial killer if you didn't get)?

The assassin readied his wings and perched on the edge of the bookcase, peering at his target with his small, glossy, black eyes. Wings raised, the assassin plunged, claws outstretched, mouth agape, the assassin went in for the kill.

Just a little closer.

The assassin could almost taste the King's blood, feel his claws sinking into flesh as bone cracked.

Closer still.

Just a little bit closer . . . . .

"BOOOOOOOOSS!"

The assassin lost his balance in the air, landing his talons a hair's breadth away from the King's neck, and flew up to the top of the bookcase opposite the one he had been on only about ten seconds before. The King had not stirred. When landing, the raging bat stumbled and twisted, lying is snarling eyes upon Yong Soo's shadow. The assassin's demonic assistant hurriedly looked down towards the door.

A woman had come in, just at the right time so she did not see the assassin in his attempt to murder the King. She was dressed in a thick black work dress, with her long, pale brown hair tied back and out of her face in a loosely braided bun. The assassin, in his rage, was just about to shout to Yong Soo to close the door so he could murder them both, when he stole a closer glance at the woman in question.

She'd awakened the King, who was trying to rub crackling amounts of sleep from his eyes with his creaking sleeve. "Are you alright, sir? You fell asleep here."

"Liz, please, skip the formalities." he begged, standing to stretch his arms above his head with a massive, cat-like yawn. The woman named Liz smiled. It was a . . . rather beautiful smile. Soft, not too bright. Her hair a pale brown. Her figure, slight and gentle.

The assassin crawled along the top of the bookcase as far as he could without falling off, trying to get a better view of the woman as the two left the large study. He stumbled and fell off the bookcase to the floor when the last step his took happened to make his wing claw land on thin air. Thank goodness the door hand been closed on the two people's way out.

Soo was by his side in a moment – well, "on the floor next to him" would be a more accurate placing. "You alright sir?" the demon asked as his master shook his head as if ridding himself of a swarm of flies.

Once he was back on his claws, the assassin spent a considerable amount of time staring at the closed doors. He waddled up to them and flapped, clinging to the handles and sniffing the outside air through the crack in the door. Her scent was still pretty fresh as it hung about in the still, mildly stuffy air.

"Sir?"

". . ." The assassin wasn't listening.

"Um, siiiiiiir?"

"Hm?"

"Are we going to follow them or not?"

The assassin didn't reply: instead, he twisted his lips and furrowed his brow. Jumping from the handles to the floor, he faced Yong Soo's shadow with curling enthusiasm. "Soo?" he asked, his eyes coiling like those of a snakes tail.

Soo sighed. "Yes, sir?"

". . . What do you say about . . . _waiting _to kill the guy?"

Soo sighed and his eyes narrowed as they traveled in a circle, signifying that the demon's shadow was rolling his eyes. "Please, sir. We've assassinated people before, people more noticeable and more important than this King guy. Let's just get it over with, take the money and go –"

"No, Soo." The assassin found himself demanding.

Soo's eyes moved again: he was raising his brows and lowering his head, as in state of an unbelievable question. "Sir." he insisted curtly.

"The guy _will_ be dead, Soo, you can guarantee that. But let's just . . . wait a while." The assassin's tone slowed considerably. His eyes glinted with lies as he told his companion, "Let's just . . . have a bit of fun with this one, eh?"

Soo sighed again. There job wouldn't be done anytime soon, that was for sure.

* * *

><p>"Um, remind me of your names again?" Sebastian asked as the two gentlemen followed him into the courtyard.<p>

"Vladimir Voltaj." the pale-haired one cut in almost immediately as he looked around with a grand, white smile. He was a handsome – devilishly handsome by the standards of every woman who'd seen him so far (a few in the streets had fainted not three and a half seconds after they'd spotted him) – with pale skin, honey colored hair, and big bright amber eyes. Everything about this guy was a trick of the light. When hit the right way, his skin turned a bit grayish and transparent – but only a little, insignificant bit that could only be noticed if you knew to look for it. When glanced at in the precise angle, his smile was made to look so that his canine teeth appeared a bit longer and sharper than a usual human's. When peeked at, his eyes seemed to sparkle red. And not the red you may be thinking of: you know, the red of a coat or a certain round vegetable/fruit (whatever you care to classify it as). Nope. This red was a bright, blood red – scarlet, if you dared. Though, if all of this was, as aforementioned, just a "trick of the light" Sebastian had no idea. "And this is my assistant, Im Yong Soo." he added, motioning to the man beside him.

The assistant was also a curious figure. If Sebastian glanced back over his shoulder to make sure the curious duo hadn't wandered anywhere or strayed from their path, he could swear that there were two small horns poking out from the assistant's locks of deadly black hair, or a smile on that conspicuous curl of his, or possibly even a spaded tail swaggering back and forth from under the edge of his long(er) coat.

The duo just gave Sebastian the creeps.

He shook his head and turned to face the two men. They snapped to attention, the honey-haired one with a bright smile, the black-haired one with a blank gaze. The squire resisted the urge to let his spine quiver as he forced himself to ask, "And what business were you here on, again?"

"We were . . ." Vladimir paused mid-sentence, "sent." Vladimir's smile grew even wider, Sebastian thought.

Sebastian decided to let Feliciano pry deeper into that answer. "And your occupation?"

"We're circus performers." Yong Soo cut in, his tone portraying that he thought his boss's answers of ludicrous origins.

"Ah-huh." Sebastian said with a curt nod, his tone laced with a hint of suspicion. "Please stay here. We'll be with you shortly." And he turned on his heal to stride away into the Palace. Once he was gone –

"_Circus performers_?" Vladimir growled through his teeth, towering above his companion.

Yong Soo remained nonchalant and answered, "Better than your idea."

"Tailors totally would've worked!" Vlad insisted.

"It's the wrong time of year for that, Boss." Yong Soo continued. "Plus, I don't think that these people – in the middle of a _waaar_ as they are – would care for new clothes, even though you _do_ look the part."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Vlad snapped as he glanced down longingly at his fresh green coat, brown slacks, knee-high leather boots, and striped, two-inch cuffs. "I made the cuffs myself you know." he added. "A little personal touch – stop mouthing out everything I say, Soo!" Soo snickered as Vladimir scuffed his boot on the cobblestones and added, "We also could've been fish surgeons."

"I think they'd be more interested in _normal_ surgeons, Boss."

"Ahem!"

Vladimir and Soo turned around to look at a man standing before them, the same man they had tried to kill not but two days ago. Vladimir's smile returned as his eyes pinched. "And you must be Your Highness."

The King regarded him with weary eyes as he nodded. "Yes, I am. And what business do two circus performers have in my Palace in times like these?"

"We were a gift, Your Majesty." Yong Soo replied.

"A gift from whom?"

". . ."

Vladimir improvised. "Your grandfather, sir." he said, hoping that his uncertainty wouldn't show.

"My . . . Grandfather?"

"Yessir."

Feliciano considered this possibility for a moment. Grandpa Romulus had his ways of being . . . extraneously extravagant at certain times. Sending him circus performers for whatever reason _did_ actually seem like something he'd do . . .

"Um, did he give you a specific reason for being here?"

"He said that he knew you were under a lot of stress and needed to be relieved of it." 'That did not come out right' was the look in Yong Soo's eyes as he looked to his Boss. The King didn't notice.

Again, something Grandpa would do . . . .

Feliciano shook his head and rubbed his eyes. "Look, you can go back to the Empires and tell my Grandfather 'thanks but no thanks, love Feli.'" the King said as he began to usher them back towards the drawbridge. "I have much more important things to worry about than entertainment, and when I'm done with things here, I hardly have any extra time to take a siesta like I used to so –"

"Wait!" Vladimir said, maybe a bit too desperately. Feliciano stopped and raised a brow. "We're also good with medicines." Vladimir said. The King's brow furrowed as Vladimir went on, "I've studied medicine my whole life –" _which is a hell of a long time_, Vladimir had to resist adding "– and know all its parts. Which ones can cure, and others that can save lives, ones that heal, some that boost production of blood in the body –" because of course he'd know that "– and some that are even good for sleep –"

"Alrightalrightalright!" Feliciano said, rubbing his forehead. Damn, that man talked fast. The King sighed. "Follow me."

A hollow, large-ceilinged room with shelves stacked with medicines and herbs and women in black and leather work dresses scurrying about was where they were lead to. Feliciano directed them to the back where sat a man with several bloodied bandages wrapped around his midsection and a bandaged head. Feliciano looked to Vladimir as he said, "This man has been holding out with these wounds for about a month. Nothing we can do will cure the infection, ease his pain, or put him into a restful sleep." He stepped back from the bed.

Vladimir looked to the man for a moment before sighing and biting off his gloves. Vlad was by the man's side, gently removing the bandages, as Yong Soo ran to the counter, cleared off some bottles and flasks, and began to take their own set of viles and containers from the large bag he carried. Once the man's severe wounds were uncovered and Vladimir had stared at them for not but two seconds, he and Soo exchanged places, Vlad beginning to open viles and flasks and poor and pinch herbs and strangely colored liquids into several white and black marble mortars, Soo gently taking the dull, soiled bandages away to the nearest fireplace to be burned and disposed of.

Vladimir had two pinky-sized viles in his hands as he walked back to the bed. Putting handing one of the viles to Yong Soo, who had returned to his side, Vladimir placed a hand behind the man's head and tipped the white liquid of the first vile into his mouth. The man swallowed willingly with the slightest of coughs, and the same with the second vile. Yong Soo stood guard over the man as Vladimir ran back to the counter and grabbed a few leaves from several wide-brimmed flasks. Feliciano took note of the shinny, little, jewel-like object he threw into the mortar just before picking up the pestle and grinding it all up.

He walked back to the man and took large pinches of the army-green concoction of powders, sprinkling them over the wounds in the man's torso and head. The man flinched a bit at the contact but let out no complaint or cry or anything that would signal that he was in pain of any sort. Vladimir and Yong Soo set to work bandaging the man back up again immediately after the powder settled. The duo took a step back in unison and looked to Feliciano as if they were expecting an inspection.

A small crowd had gathered to watch; most of it was made up of the nurses and a few soldiers who were well enough to walk. Vladimir spotted the woman he had seen two days ago among them. He tore his eyes from the perplexed face when Feliciano asked with a tone betraying the same form of puzzlement, "What was it, exactly, that you did?"

Vladimir cleared his throat. "The first little elixir, the white one, was a numbing agent. The second, the pale greenish one, was set to put him to sleep. He'll be out peacefully in a couple more minutes. And the last, the powder, was a healing powder of my own design. The only reason he flinched was because it's a bit cold to the touch. It's very effective and he should be fine by this time tomorrow."

Feliciano gave his lip a thoughtful chew before saying, "Find lodging somewhere in the City. If you aren't summoned back within the next three days, you'll leave and go back to my Grandfather in the Empires. Understand?"

"What should happen to us if we are, indeed, called back?" Vladimir asked.

Feliciano turned on his heel, the crowd of women and few soldiers parting for him, and left towards the door. No response given. The woman followed him and began to ask questions in a low voice. Vladimir nodded and he and Soo gathered their belongings.

It was only when the drawbridge rose, locking them on the other side of the mystifying, toxic moat, and they were a ways down the empty dirt road leading back into the city that Yong Soo swore. "Elaborate plan failed, Boss. Let's just sneak back in now and –"

"Soo, Soo, calm down." Vladimir said with a sly smile and nonchalant tone.

"Calm down, Boss? _Calm down_?"

"Patience is a virtue. We'll be back in there setting the stage before you know it."

"Boss, let's just stop playing around." Soo stopped and grabbed Vladimir's arm, turning him so that the two faced each other. "It'd be better for everyone if we got the job done as soon as possible. It's what Al wanted anyway –"

"Alfred made no distinction of the _TIME_ he wanted it done." Vladimir shot back, his eyes narrowed. "He just said to make it happen. It _will_, Soo. You can guarantee that."

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><p><strong>Blu: <strong>**oooooooooh! CLIFFHANGER~! ****Damnit, I swear, I love Romania. He's just so fracking BADASS!**

**Blue: How'd you like it guys? Good?**

**Blu: Dude, you know what also sounds badass?**

**Blue: You've decided to take up windsurfing. **+ + + if you get the reference ;)****

**Blu: um, no, I was gonna say Swedish Vodka but that's good too.**

**Blue: O.o Where the hell did you find Swedish Vodka?**

**Blu: There was an empty bottle in the prop room when we were cleaning it out a couple days ago.**

**Blue: Dude . . . . . . **

**Blu: Dude, blame Elli and Ul, they're the ones who found it, not me.**

**Blue: No . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . that DOES sound totally badass . . . . . . .**

**~BHB**

**PS from both of us: so so so so so so so so so oober oober sorry for the really late update guys. I know i'm waaaaaaay behind. **


	9. Chapter 8: Flax

**Blue: srry for the super huge wait, guys. :( We [read: **_**I**_**] had some trouble kicking Blu off his lazy Italian ass so he'd get up to write this chapter. He was definitely not looking forward to it. **

**Blu: Hey, on the bright side, we got more comics posted for those of you out there who care to look at them.**

**Blue: Damnit Blu, how long has it been since we updated this?**

**Blu: um, it feels like about a month. . . . Hey, in my defense, we had the play to work on, I had that stupid English project (whose bloopers were **_**amazing**_**), and – **

**Blue: You have no excuse for what happened on Saturday.**

**Blu: *faceplam* Blue, it's a damn **_**tradition**_** that we all go to Denny's after the show's over on the last night. How the hell was I suppose to know that? Plus, you know how packed the car was – PEOPLE! Listen to me! We can only fit four passengers in my car, right? We ended up having two of my friends in the **_**trunk**_**! Plus another so-called "friend" that we had to take home afterwards (at two in the morning). Grrrrrrrrr, I was so fracking mad . . . . I don't even like [insert name here] and we have to take them home? HONESTLY?**

**Blue: hey, now we know where everyone lives. **

**Blu: O.– true, true, but then [insert name here] started throwing a damn fit and –**

**Blue: *pushes ranting Blu offpanel* enjoy the chapter while you can guys.**

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><p>Lukas was getting better and better at sneaking into places without the Knights knowing – not that it was a hard feat to accomplish in the first place. The Bronze Knights must've been the densest people he'd ever hung around; the other day, the Knights were caught over the femininely (cuz that's soooo a word . . . shut up! It is!), common topic of shoes.<p>

Yeah, that's right, you heard me: the girliest topic to have as the object of conversation besides that of various types of makeup, clothing, appearance in general, gossiping, fangirling . . . .

–_– you know what I mean!

Yup, it was a pretty useless conversation that was better left unsaid: no need to taint the already colorful outdoors with their sour, even more colorful language, now is there?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Is there?

Back on topic: he'd just recently snuck into Mathias' tent and stolen a small stack of books. The poor things were hardly interesting at all: a book in that stupid language Mathias and the Knights spoke that Lukas couldn't recognize, another book on battle strategies, a journal, field guide for whatever useless topic Mathias was studying –

Wait. Lukas tossed the field guide back in the pile and scrambled for the journal he'd thrown away. Ooooh, a private life? Better yet, a _personal_ life? Lukas sighed defeatedly (ALSO totally a real word) when he opened the pages to find, to his extreme dismay, that the book was written in a mixture of Knight-language and English; I guess you could say that it was a demented form of Knight-English slang.

Lukas was just about to throw the book away and pass the remainder of the day out in hopefully silent solitude and wait for a chance to put the books back – what use were they to him? – when two sentences, all in English, caught his eye: _Damn __Oxenstierna! Damn him to HELL! _Sadly, the rest of the page continued off in Knight. But nevertheless, Lukas raised a brow at this.

"Who the hell is Oxenstierna?" he found himself wondering aloud.

"Lukas!"

Lukas looked up to see Jens running towards him. "What?" Lukas asked, throwing the journal in the pile with the other books and standing.

Jens skidded to a stop and panted, "A couple of the others have gotten in a fight with some Knights, sir."

Lukas raised his brows. "I wanna see this!" he whined, as if he were a little kid being shunned by his group of playmates. He ran out from his little groove by the cliff – with an awkward look from Jens – towards the center of camp, where yelling and shouting had started to get louder and louder.

In the clearing, there were three mega-stare-offs going on. First, it was Kristian and another one of Lukas' soldiers, having the most epic stare-off Lukas felt that he would ever see (they would've been nose to nose if only Kristian wasn't so damn _tall_). Then the other two were being held between the two knights on either side of Kristian and the two soldiers on either side of the soldier engaged in the stare-off with Kristian.

Over the roar of the crowd, Lukas couldn't hear a single word exchanged between the soldier and Kristian, but he could tell by their expressions and body language that it was heated. The soldier said something, a small, curt comment not even five words long, and Kristian swung. The soldier ducked and socked him in the gut. Kristian retaliated and kicked. The two other Knights had both jumped on the soldiers.

By now, the whole circle of men was in an uproar. There was cheering, hooting and hollering, even some betting was going on. And the worst part?

"WHOOOOHOO! YEAH! KICK HIS ASS, NICK!"

Lukas was cheering with them.

"Sir!" Jens screamed back at him. "Aren't you going to stop this?"

Lukas raised his brows at Jens' remark. "What?"

Jens blinked. "You . . . _aren't_ going to stop this?" he repeated.

Lukas looked at Jens like he was insane. "Pfft!" He scoffed. "Why should I? This is the best form of entertainment I've had since I got here. I don't wanna ruin it."

Jens was about to begin his faltering for a remark when Mathias burst though the crowd. "_Kristian_! _Jacob_! _Henson_!" he roared. The three knights looked up from their brawl, but Mathias actually had to stride forward and pry the Silver soldiers off of them. "What the hell is going on here Kristian?"Mathias bellowed, throwing the soldiers in Lukas' direction and standing up stock straight.

Kristian stuttered, rubbing his sore hands on the hem of his muddy tunic. Kristian. _Stuttered_. Mathias, deep into his rage, cut his second off. "Can you imagine what would happen to all of us if Gupta saw any of this?"

"But the Queen isn't here, sir." one of the three knights piped up.

Mathias turned to him with a sneer. "And what if he was, eh? You boys ever think about that?" Mathias sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Kristian, I'd like to see you in my tent." Kristian nodded warily and walked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "The rest of you, disperse! Henson, make sure the company gets back to the jail."

The other knight nodded and began to usher the men away. Lukas shrugged and turned, making his way back to his pile of -stolen- books. _Well_, he thought, _nice while it las _–

Lukas was pulled back into a vacant tent under the shade of the cliff's edge, with a hand over his mouth and an arm around his waist, conveniently pinning his arms to his sides. "What's _wrong_ with you?" his captor whispered gently, setting Lukas back on his feet.

"Damnit Mathias! What the hell do you want?"

"_Whyyy_ didn't you stop it?" Mathias demanded, ignoring the enraged Pawn's assault.

Lukas scoffed and made a move to turn and run out of the tent. It was when Mathias grabbed his arm and yanked him away that Lukas figured the Knight was not messing around. "It was a 'crude' form of entertainment, Stupid. I wasn't going to ruin the only chance I had at fun since I've been here."

Mathias's brow must've furrowed because he gave a persistent "Hmph" and said no more.

The Pawn rolled his eyes and demanded, "_Noooow_ can I run away."

"No." came the curt reply.

"Why not?"

"Because you're not telling me the whole truth."

_Damnit, he's good._ Lukas sighed mightily and planted his feet. "Why would I want to help _yooou_?" he snarled.

"What?" The Knight was confused.

"The more disorganized and discombobulated this camp is, the less chance you have of getting together to help Alfred."

"You're worried about losing the war?" Mathias asked quietly.

"I'm worried about losing my family."

"Emil?"

"That entire Monarchy is my family, you bastard, and don't you ever forget that!" Lukas reached out with a shove. Mathias tottered on his feet as Lukas once again tried to storm out of the tent.

"What if I got you to see Emil?" Mathias asked, his tone desperate. He pulled Lukas back towards him before the Pawn even had a chance to touch the flap of the tent. If Mathias hadn't reached out to stop him, Lukas would have stopped anyway.

The Silver Pawn looked up into the shadow of a face and wrinkled his nose. "What?"

"What if I found out a way to get you to see your brother again? Would you cooperate _then_?"

Lukas was seriously contemplating this. ". . . how would you do it?" He asked the question more out of pure inept curiosity rather than false, misleading hope or anticipation.

The Mathias' shadow shrugged. "I'd probably just wing it."

Lukas was not amused by his answer, and his entire expression fell before screwing up again. "'Wing it'?"

The shadow made an odd movement, which Lukas assumed was the Knight nodding. "I said 'probably'. But," A confidant hand reached out toward the Pawn's face, all fingers curled but one. Mathias was trying to be persuasive, and his gesticulation gave it away. "What if I _could_? Would you really cooperate?"

Lukas noticed how odd these last two sentences sounded. It wasn't anything that he could describe, really. The first sounded almost in a suspicious tone, framed and trimmed and all dolled up in a false-hope that portrayed Mathias was trying to convince himself that he _could_, after all, accomplish such a feat. Though, he wasn't exactly suspicious. The second just made the entire comment sound as if the Knight were just speaking his thoughts out loud and not talking to another person at all.

The Pawn found this very strange. Said behavior sparked a strange feeling in Lukas, a feeling that made him crease his brow, widen his eye lids, and let the rest of his face turn to stone. "Oh hoho," he whispered, his tone deadly. He was angry now. The deadly-quiet kind of angry. Fixating Mathias' darkened face with his furious mauve eyes, he rumbled, "Aren't you just a smarmy little serpent?"

"Wha–"

Lukas was out of the tent and back with the books in a spit second. "As if I could believe anything that comes out of your mouth." he grumbled to himself picking up that forgotten field guide. _Does he honestly think that I would trust him like that?_

Mathias fumbled through his wild hair as he walked back to his tent to see Kristian. That talk had not turned out like he had planned. But, then again, who plans this kind of stuff?

* * *

><p><strong>Blu: Ugh, this chapter SUCKED!<strong>

**Blue: *pats back* Don't beat yourself up over it, Blu. **

**Blu: Cummon Blue, admit it.**

**Blue: . . . . . . ok yeah the chapter did kind of suck BUT NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE BETTER!**


	10. Chapter 9: Hydrangea

**Blu: WHOOP! A new chapter in two days! Yeah, I need regular breaks from my writing, sorry about that, guys.**

**Blue: Hey Blu, I'ma proud of you. You wrote this whole thing on your itouch.**

**Blu: His name is Chester.**

**Blue: -_- yeah, ok.**

**Blu: Well, guys, it seems that we're both too lazy to have a conversation in the AN right now so enjoy the chapter!**

* * *

><p>Vladimir was looking out at the gardens through the large arches lining the inner Palace, admiring the day. No, it wasn't a complete fact that vampires hated the sunlight. It really depended on certain circumstances and the environment in which a vampire chose to live his nonexistent life. Vlad loved the sun, he really did. Sometimes, he thought, he even liked it even more than the cushions of the dark. True, all the windows in the room they'd given him and Soo were practically sewed up with drapes and thick velvet curtains, but that was more for Soo's sake, as the only light the demon was really used to was firelight (for obvious reasons) – and no, sunlight does not count as firelight. In the environment Vladimir was forced to live in, what with interacting with as many commoners and aristocrats as he did in his job as an assassin, there was a lot of light involved, mostly sunlight.<p>

The vampire reached up almost absentmindedly and fingered the string around his neck and the charm that hung on it. Well, you really couldn't call it a charm: it wasn't anything fancy like a jewel, a family heirloom, a shark tooth, a kind of trinket or anything. To most, it looked like a rock, which is basically what it was. Just a small, coin-sized, gray rock with little grooves in it, an entirely black side, and a grain to it. If you wanted to be technical about it, the 'rock' was actually a piece of petrified wood.

Yes, yes, I know – lame. Who keeps a piece of petrified wood on their person at all times? It baffled Soo to no end, as Vladimir refused to tell him anything about it. The vampire rarely took it out, even, as it normally lay hidden beneath his many layers of clothing: a thick coat, a vest, a shirt – sometimes two. Hey, when you had no blood to keep your body warm, you needed a lot to keep you nice and toasty. Yeah, I guess you could say vampires were cold-blooded . . . . minus the blood part, of course.

As he fingered the rougher, black side of the wood, the small smile that had graced his face only moments before disappeared. He did not, however, drop his head, preferring instead to continue looking up into the sky with his melancholy aura. The memories that that particular lump of wood carried with it struck cords within the vampire's inner frame, cords that he had forgotten he had, cords he thought were broken. It almost hurt.

"Mr. Voltaj!"

The statement woke Vladimir from his stupor, causing him to look to his left as he shoved the wood back under his collar. Striding towards him was the woman he found most intriguing, the woman who had been with the King on so many occasions. She stopped a few feet from him and Vladimir bowed. "Yes, milady?"

The woman's expression didn't change, but her eyes portrayed that she was mildly shocked by his tone and polite, gentlemanly attributes. She blinked a few times, which for her must've been like stuttering, before saying, "I would like to thank you for helping my patient a few days ago."

Vladimir smiled a gentlemanly smile. "Of course, madam. It was my pleasure to help that soldier."

The woman still seemed a bit wary of him, as if she didn't know what to think. She straightened and said, "I think it would be more polite if you referred to me properly." If she wanted to sound offended, Vlad thought, she had failed.

Vladimir bowed slightly and said, "Of course, milady. What would you wish me to refer to you as?"

"'Your Majesty' should be fine."

Vladimir straightened and smiled. "So you _are_ the beautiful Queen I've heard so much about."

Now she really seemed shocked. She gave her stuttering blink again before saying a bit awkwardly, "I don't take too kind to flattery these days, Mr. Voltaj."

"My humblest apologies, Your Highness." Vladimir, smile vanishing, gave a grand bow, low and slow.

The Queen didn't seem to know what to do with this polite gentleman. "You're forgiven, Mr. Voltaj." she echoed, albeit a bit ineptly.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Vladimir rose from his bow and asked, "Is there anything more I can do for you, milady?"

The Queen gave him that look again, as if she were angry with herself for not knowing what to do, before shoving him against the nearest wall. In a small space between a pillar and a statue and holding him at arm's length she growled, "I don't know that it is you want here, Mr. Voltaj, but you can assure yourself that I _will_ be watching you."

Vladimir, face blank as a child's, pulled up his brows and held his hands up in defense. The Queen's brow creased even more, but this time from confusion. He could see it in her vibrantly dull green eyes: why was he not trying to break free of her grasp? Why was he not attempting to convince her otherwise, telling her that there should be no reason to watch him so closely? The vampire read it easily and pulled his shoulders closer to his collar, as in a miniature shrug. "I cannot go against the word of my Queen." he said passively, as if he were a melancholy man talking about walking through a field of the sweetest-smelling flowers. "If I did, it could and would be considered treason. And I never wish to be a treacherous fiend in cases of royalty."

The anger drained from her eyes, as she now was staring at him with a raw, serious confusion. Vladimir was proud that he had stumped her with his oblivious attitude and nonchalant words, but he decided to make it a bit plainer for her. "If you, my Queen, say I am guilty of treason to the throne, then so be it."

She stared at him for a moment longer before pulling away and letting her hands fall to her sides. Straightening against the wall, Vladimir said in a most gentlemanly manner, "Now, Your Majesty, is there anything else I can help you with?"

Her Majesty never answered his question, and instead just took off walking down the hall back in the direction from which she had come. Vladimir watched her go until she was gone from his sight. He took a stride in the opposite direction, the way of his quarters, to have a little chat with Soo.

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><p>Elizaveta's encounter had not gone exactly as she had planned. She had hoped to suck information from him about his previous whereabouts, occupations, and business on being here. But the strange botanist had proved cleverer than she had originally suspected. It was evident to her now that the botanist's brains were not only in his fingers and eyes, but back in his brain as well. She would have to try a different approach, a <em>very<em> different approach . . .

* * *

><p>"Oh really? That's . . . unfortunate."<p>

_Note to self: he didn't say _SAD_ . . . _Soo thought to himself as Vlad walked into their quarters.

The vampire acknowledged their visitor with a nod. "Good morning, Your Grace. I trust Soo has not been a complete and total bore to you."

The Pawn looked to Soo for a moment in regard and said, "No, I don't think so."

Soo huffed. "Soo, don't be so impolite." Vlad scolded lightly as he mixed some herbs into a large mortar. "Master Emil is _also_ a Lord of the Palace that we are now employed by, we must show him courtesy. May I offer you tea, Your Grace?" Vladimir turned around, a cobalt tray in his hands with teacups and a steaming teapot placed on it.

"Oh, no thank you, Mr. Voltaj. I was just getting ready to leave anyway." Emil stood from the stool he was perched on and nodded to them both. "Good day."

"Good day, Your Grace." Vladimir nodded back and Emil left. Quietly kicking the door closed, Vlad set the tray down on the tall table and sat on the stool that the Pawn had just left.

While Vlad poured the tea, sugar, and cream, across from him, Yong Soo held an angrily perplexed expression. "It's like he's not afraid of me at _all_. . ." he said quietly.

"Yeah?" Vlad responded. If Soo were actually paying attention, he would have noticed that his Boss used the tone he used whenever he wasn't really paying attention to whatever anyone was saying. But the demon didn't, and continued to stare off into the dark.

"Yeah. He's so calm. And he's not just pretending to be, he really is _calm_." Soo wrinkled his lips, his tone fascinated. "I don't know how he does it."

"Maybe he's so stupid he doesn't realize you can eat his soul at any waking moment." Vladimir offered nonchalantly as he gave Soo his tea and put the tray aside.

"I don't even know." Soo sipped his tea and the two sat in the quiet, complete darkness for a few minutes before Soo asked as he stirred in another sugar cube, "So how'd it go?"

"Whatever she was trying to accomplish, she failed at it." Vlad responded with half-lidded eyes and a raised brow. He took a swig of his tea and set the cup down again.

"Boss." Soo started. He too set down his teacup and picked up a thin spoon, stirring it slowly, as if he were contemplating something. "I don't like this."

"So I've been told." Vlad insouciantly remarked, taking another sip of tea.

"Boss!" Soo's head snapped up, his brow furrowed, but his eyes did not slim. "I'm serious. I think we should do what we were set out to do as soon as possible, and not play these games with random women walking around–"

"Soo." Vlad looked at his assistant over his teacup's rim. The demon straightened in his stool immediately upon noticing that Boss' eyes were no longer that amber shade. Na-uh. Nope. Red, they were. That bright, lust red.

"Boss, I'm just trying to say that I don't think all this 'Mistress Business' is a good idea."

"Alfred is a fool if he thinks killing this King will end the war." Vladimir growled, setting his teacup down.

"He thinks they'll be weakened by it." Soo tried to persuade.

Vlad shook his head. "My encounter with the Queen has convinced me otherwise. I think they might spend a little time mourning. But then they'll come running at Alfred's gates like they're hair is on fire. They won't stop until they have his head on a spike."

"So, why didn't you tell him that?"

Vlad smiled, bearing his fangs in the cover of the dark. The two assassins could see each other clearly on the cotton dark, no problem. "I thought we should have a bit of fun. We rarely ever do these days."

Soo sighed and cast a glance aside, still unconvinced. Vladimir rose from the stool and patted his assistants shoulder as he passed. "Everything's gonna be fine, Soo. You'll see."

* * *

><p>Elizaveta frowned up at the door. Why Feliciano had given the botanistcircus performers the most remote, spare room in the entire Palace, she would never know. Pressing her ear to the crack, she listened, holding her breath. Nothing.

She silently pulled open the door and peeked inside. From the tiny sliver of room that the light hit, she could see no one. The Queen hurriedly stepped inside and closed the door. The room was still silent. Elizaveta breathed a sigh of relief and picked up her shoe, striking the match she'd brought; she didn't have to search long to find a candle she could use. "Who keeps a room this dark?" she whispered aloud to herself.

Snooping begun. She had found nothing interesting and especially nothing the slightest bit suspicious. "Damn." Elizaveta said, closing yet another cabinet. She stared for a while at the doors of the furniture facing her, and then the Queen spied a case.

The case was thin and dark, hidden behind a row of porcelain jars and glass containers. Pulling it out, Elizaveta set it face down and unclipped the clasps holding it shut. The Queen gasped once the case was opened: inside were a rusty assortment of knives, small axes, strange metal stars, and spear-heads. "Jackpot!" she whispered, setting the candle down next to the case and combing through the weapons.

To her great disappointment, Elizaveta found out that every one of the weapons was as rusty as could be; every sharpened edge dulled; every minuscule detail rubbed off from use and weathering. They were antiques. The sharpest thing Elizaveta could find in the whole case was a knife, small but heavy, with a slightly curved blade.

Liz sighed in her anger as she let her arms fall. She thought next about what to do: she could put the knife and case back and left as if she'd never been. _Or_, she thought deviously, _I could bring this to Feli._

_Would you really do that? _a voice in the back of her mind asked.

She shook her head, imitating the horses in the stables when they wanted to rid themselves of a swarm of flies, but the voice returned. _Lie? _The voice tried to be persuading her. But Liz ignored it.

_Shut up!_ _You're just my conscience._

_Don't assume too much, Liz._

_Stop it! I don't care if it _is_ just a hunch. They're something odd about that pair, and I want to find out what._

_Curiosity killed the cat._

_And saved the mouse! _she rebuked. The voice was silent. "Ha, that'll teach 'im." Liz said triumphantly.

"Who, Your Majesty?"

The Queen screamed and dropped the knife. As it turns out, it _was_ the sharpest thing in the case: the knife was a lot heavier than expected when Elizaveta had first picked it up. And now, as it came falling down, a bit of red came with it. A bit more joined it as the rusty knife landed with a soft pat on the now soiled carpet.

Liz grabbed the cut on her arm with a slight shriek; and didn't that sound odd? She looked up at Vlad for help. That damn botanist – what the hell was he doing? He'd opened up the cabinet Elizaveta had not five minutes ago been looking into and was pushing viles and flasks aside, looking frantically into jars and things. His eyes were wild. She wanted to shout to him and tell him to get over here and help her, but he had found whatever it was he had been looking for. At her side with a small bottle no bigger than a mouse, he tilted her head back and shoved it into her mouth. The liquid inside of it tasted foul and bitter. The Queen shook her head away and spat it out. "That tastes _disgusting_!" she said.

He pulled her head back and shoved into her mouth again. "_Drink it_!" he howled.

Liz swallowed her pride along with the foul concoction. She gasped when it was all gone, and collapsed onto her knees. Vladimir was no longer within her vision, but she could hear him scrambling, glass clinking, a small sound like dripping water, and some hissing. She hardly even noticed when the botanist set down a large basin on the counter next to her. He pulled her to her feet harshly and shoved her arm into the fluid of the basin.

Oh boy, did it burn like hell. Elizaveta bit back her scream, trying to pull her arm out of it. Vladimir held her fast, his snake-like vice on her tightening with each passing second. A loud, resounding hiss sounded in her ear, jerking the Queen wide awake. The botanist pulled her arm out of the now bubbling liquid and hauled her over to the door.

Elizaveta stumbled to keep her footing as the boom of the slamming door reverberated behind her.

* * *

><p>Early the next morning, Yong Soo came to the door of their rooms. He had been out all night hunting for useful information. <em>Where<em> exactly he had been, no one knew. But when he came back, the demon had stopped by the letter room. He had suspected they might get a letter from Alfred any time soon, asking them if they'd gotten the job done yet and if not to hurry up with it. Not only had a letter arrived for them, but so had a package. Now, the assistant hefted his package into one arm, reached out with the other for the handle. It wouldn't budge. He tried again. And again. Again.

Nope.

He sighed and gripped the package tightly, looking around to make sure no one was watching. Slipping underneath the door as a shadow, Soo got up off the floor and knew immediately that something was not right. First of all, there was this rank smell of a fire that had been forced with a poor, thick fuel. Second, a basin with acidic contents was set out, diluted and obviously used some time ago. Third and most importantly, where was Vlad?

"Vlad?" Soo called. "Vlad you in here?"

"Am I? Am I really?"

"Well you have to be, cuz the door was locked from the inside, and I didn't do it." Soo said as he got to his knees and peeked under the edge of the couch. Nothing. He stood and looked in the corners of the room, behind every door, within the folds of every curtain. Still nothing.

"Did I? Oh, well." The vampire didn't sound in the least bit interested.

He was just about to ask his boss where he was hiding when he spotted him: hanging inside the intricate wrought iron chandelier hanging from the ceiling, there Vladimir rested with his wings curled around his furry black body, his clawed feet coiling closer around the piece of metal from which he hung.

"Boss, what're you doing up there?" the assistant asked, tossed the package on the couch without taking his eyes off the bat in the chandelier.

"Thinking."

"What happened?"

"She."

"You're not being very cooperative." Soo said, striding over to the counter where the basin lay. In the corner of the rug, a large piece had been torn out, a pile of ashes sitting in its place. Soo picked up both the small flask and antique knife on the floor.

"Do I have to be?"

The demon sniffed the flask first. _Icemat juice? _he thought. He examined the knife next, standing up and running his finger along the edge. A slight crackly substance peeled off the edge. The pieces smelt horribly bitter. "She cut herself?" he asked.

The assistant looked up to his boss just in time to see him shiver. "Well, you should snap out of it long enough to let me read you this letter." Soo walked over to the couch and snapped the letter out from under the strings of the paper-wrapped package. "Alfred's getting impatient."

"Oh is he." With the tone Vlad used, it was easily implied that he didn't care, not one bit.

"Cut it out Boss." Soo snapped, unfolding the letter and frowning up at the bat.

The vampire was examining the black talons on one foot. He echoed, "What have I to cut?"

Soo rolled his eyes. The demon read from the letter, "'Enclosed to you is the pride and joy of any assassin's collection of poisons. You have no idea what trouble I had to go through to get it –'"

"He's hoping that by sending me whatever-it-is that it'll jump-start my killing instincts so I'll get the job done faster." The bat scoffed. "Stupid King."

Soo read on, "'– so use it wisely. His Majesty, King of the Scarlet Flag. PS: Burn once read.'" Immediately upon saying the last word, the letter burst into flames in the demon's hand and crumbled to ashes on the rug. Yong Soo looked back up to his boss, who now was looking at one of the empty glass bulbs on the chandelier inquisitively. "Did you hear a word I just said to you?"

Vladimir did not respond, preferring instead to tilt his head at his rounded reflection in the glass. He had ceased his hanging and had climbed upon an entire iron limb, cocking his head this way and that, twitching his large ears, rolling his shoulders. Amazing that he could keep his own balance so perfect while that of the chandelier tottered dangerously. "I remember him." said the vampire, his tone quiet and plain. "He was a small fellow, newly turned, fangs in need of sharpening . . ."

"What are you talking about now?" Soo asked irritably.

"This one vampire that confronted me once upon a not so long ago."

Soo sighed and took a seat next to the yet unopened package. He knew very well that he wasn't going to get far until Boss had his thoughts off his wings. "Yeah?"

"He came up and said 'You look like an experienced fellow – vampire-wise' and I told him I was and then he asked me where the best place to bite for feeding was and I told him that it depended on your fangs. He looked at me like I was crazy and I asked him to humor me with his smile. The lad did so and I scrutinized his fangs, as they were smaller than usual."

"So what'd you tell him?" Soo said.

"I told him that for fangs like his, he should use the wrist or the ankle, as the bigger vessels are closer to the surface, but that he would have to kill his prey first so it could not break free and run away and that he would have to sharpen his fangs so he could tear through the ligaments easier. He questioned this and told me 'I've always heard of vampires biting people's necks. Why can't I?' and I told him that he had asked me for a recommendation corresponding to his fangs."

"Did he question you further?"

"Oh yes, it seemed like that answer had not been enough for him and I said 'Only the most foolish of vampires leave their kill for people to find' and then he asked why all of the kill that _is_ found has a bite in their neck. I told him that the only vampires who really get a decent meal from a bite to the neck are the ones with especially long fangs. 'Like you?' he had asked." Vladimir smiled a small smile at his reflection, baring his own fangs, ones like needles, ones like a saber cat's. "'Yes, like me' I said." The vampire remained silent for a moment before he continued, his smile disappearing, "'Have you ever left your prey to be found?' he had asked. 'No' I had told him plainly. 'Would you?'"

Vladimir didn't respond for a moment. Soo had to ask, "What'd you say?"

The bat's brow creased. "I can't recall."

"Did you even answer?"

"I'm sure I did . . ." Vladimir stayed up there for a couple more seconds before he jumped off the chandelier and landed on top of the package. "What is it?" asked the bat, sniffing at the string

"No clue." replied his assistant, tugging at the string. With it fell the paper, revealing a black box.

"What an idiot." The assassin sighed, and plopped back against the arm of the couch. He motioned with his wing to the lid. "There's no way I can keep whatever it is in _this_ damn box."

"He should have known not to put in a box with his seal on it."

Indeed, that is what the assassins were complaining about: on the lid of the box, implanted in bright gold leaf, sat the Golden King's seal.

"Should have. But did he? Noooooooooooo. Stupid King proves his wits once more." Vladimir got to his feet again and waddled a bit closer. "What's in it, Soo?" he repeated.

The demon picked up the box and opened the lid a sliver, sniffing its contents. He looked perplexed for a moment; taking a large inhalation and still getting nothing, Soo finally just tore the lid off the box. His face fell.

"What is it?" Vladimir bounced on his feet, wings quivering.

"An oleander."

"Pfft. Even stupider. I already have oleander and it's not as poisonous as most of the other stuff I've got –"

"Boss." Yong Soo tentatively reached into the black depths of the box and pulled out a long twig with about twenty or so thin, smooth leaves. On a regular oleander, the leaves would have been a dark, deep green with a bit of oil secreting from them. No oil on these leaves, they were dry as a desert. No deep green color, either – na-uh, these leaves were a dead snow-white.

Vladimir crawled up to Soo's leg and hoisted himself up, sniffing the leaves tentatively. No scent. "He gave us the Nivis oleander?" Vlad said with a degree of almost-wonder. "And he wants us to use this to get Feliciano?"

"Wow." Soo said bluntly. Vladimir jumped into the air and flew over to the counter, perching under a cabinet mounted on the wall above his head.

Soo opened said cabinet and searched for an empty container to keep it in as Vladimir said, "He really must hate Feliciano to make him suffer like that."

"Must." Soo pulled a rounded, urn-like, dark copper jar.

Just as he was about to stuff the twig into it though, a knock sounded on the door. "Mr. Voltaj!" came the call.

Soo stopped and looked to Boss, who had just face-palmed. "Damn it." He growled. "Hurry! I'll take care of this thing; you get rid of that damn box and open the door."

"Who _is_ it?" Soo whispered harshly as he scrambled to the couch, picking up the box, lid, paper and string and running to one of the two bedrooms.

"Mr. Voltaj, are you in there?"

Vladimir lofted into the air, stuffed the twig into the jar and popped it into the cabinet again, slamming the doors shut with a smack of his wings. "_She_!" he shouted softly, flying up to the chandelier to stop its swinging.

Soo swore quietly as he threw everything he was holding onto the bed and closed the door hurriedly. Running back to the door, Yong Soo stopped dead. He ignored the pounding on the door for a split moment and hurriedly turned to Vladimir. "When did you do this?" he said, pointing to the huge scrapes and gouges in the wood.

"Open the damn door, Soo!" And the assassin darted under the couch to listen and watch.

Soo cranked his neck towards the door and opened it, jumping between the Queen and doors. Closing it behind his back, the assistant smiled at her and said, "Good morning, Your Majesty! Did you see that sky? Mm, beautiful, absolutely gorg –"

"Have you seen Mr. Voltaj?" the Queen cut him off, crossing her arms regally.

"No ma'am. Haven't seen 'im all morning."

"I need to talk to him."

"About what, may I ask, Your Majesty?"

"The . . . incident yesterday."

"I have heard nothing of any 'incident', Your Highness. Vladimir surely would have told me right away if anything had happened. Perhaps it was a dream?" Soo suggested.

The Queen was not having any persuading. "It could not have been, Mr. Soo."

_Wrong end of the name_. Soo thought to himself. Yes, his last name was first, is there a problem with that? "Do you have anything to make sure of that, Your Majesty?"

She looked a bit taken aback, then snapped as she rolled up her left sleeve, "Yes, indeed, I do." The Queen offered her arm.

Soo raised an eyebrow and stared at the offered limb. "Um, your wrist, Your Majesty?"

"The cut!" she persisted.

"What cut?"

"Pfft, 'What cu–' what?" The Queen looked down at her arm, grabbing it a few inches below the wrist with her right hand, and stared at it. She rubbed her fingers over the area a couple times before shaking her head in wonder. "I could've sworn –"

"Is anything . . ._ wrong_, Your Majesty?"

"Um. . ." The Queen shook her head to his question and rubbed her fingers through her hair at her scalp. "I am . . . sorry for bothering you, Mr. Soo."

"You are never a bother, Your Majesty."

"Um, g – good day."

"Good day, ma'am." The assistant nodded to her and once again disappeared into the room as the Queen turned and walked back down the hall, continuing to scratch her head. Alright: door closed. All other personnel gone. "Ok, Vlad, no will you tell me where these gouges came from?"

. . .

"Vlad?"

. . . . . . . . .

"DAMN IT!"

* * *

><p><strong>Blu: Whoop! 13 pages! So much better than 5 (like last chapter, grr).<strong>

**BFTL: Ok guys we have a couple of things to say, just for clarification. **

**1: The 'once upon a not so long ago' is not a typo. I liked it that way.**

**2: You'll find out in a chapter or two what the potions that Romania gave Hungary did, exactly, k? So don't panic/confuse yourself. **

**3: Oleander is an actual plant. I have 10 or so of them surrounding the building that my biology classroom is in. We were taking a 'nature walk' (as Mr. Jolley likes to call them) and we found out that if you eat a leaf or two from the oleander you can die and if you fall into the bush you get a severe rash from all the oil on the leaves. Romania will explain in chappy 12/13ish what the Nivis oleander is/does (PS: 'Nivis' is Latin for 'of snow').**

**4: at least, I think that's the order Korea's name goes in, right?**

**BFTL: ok, I'm done explaining. Keep going, dudes.**

**Blu: ok . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . what do we talk about now?**

**Blue: *face-palm* see you guys next chapter. Reviews/favs/story alerts are loved.**


	11. Chapter 10: Peonies and Bloomed Roses

**Blu: hmm, you guys think I should change the rating on this to M?**

**Blue: it's not lemon or smut or nuffin (ok, maybe a little bit of almost-lemon). It's just francey-pants . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . **

**BFTL: *guiltily holds up shield* DON'T HURT ME! I'd rather make a character overly dramatic than OOC!**

* * *

><p>Chapter 11: Motherhood<p>

* * *

><p>"Hey Aaaaaaaarthuuuuuuuuuur!"<p>

The Knight groaned and pulled the sheets over his head as light broke through the quiet darkness of his room. "Get the hell outta here, bloody frog!" came his muffled shout.

The Bishop took a step away from the open curtains and balcony doors and turned to his friend, still mildly asleep and all wrapped up in his warm comforters. "Cummon, mon ami! Get off your lazy ass and come out to the town with me!" Francis jumped on the bed and crawled in next to the Knight.

"Like hell I will, Francis!" Arthur shouted again, squirming. "I have a lot to do today; I won't spend my time out-and-about doing God-knows-what with _you_!"

"Honhonhon~" purred Francis, snuggling closer to the furious Knight. "Mon ami, you need to relax, take a day off – play hooky for the day!"

"No."

"Honhon~, yes you will!" The Bishop hauled Arthur out of the bed and to his dresser. "May I stay in the room while you get dressed, Arthur, or will I be shunned?" Francis asked.

Arthur slapped him away and kicked him out of the room. "Pervert." he grumbled after the door had been slammed closed.

* * *

><p>"Why the hell are we <em>here<em>?" Arthur whispered to Francis. Yes, they'd stopped in front of a bar. Not just any bar, though. Na-uh. The Knight face-palmed and began to walk away, but the Bishop grabbed him hurriedly and pulled him back with a yank.

"Arthur, this is going to be good for you. Meet a couple ladies, invite them to bed –"

"I'm not _you_, Francis."

"You're coming whether you want to or not." And with that, Francis pushed Arthur into the bar where they were immediately surrounded by a group of women – wearing nothing but small, black aprons, white cuffs, and a white collar.

Yes, it was one of _those_ bars.

Arthur hurriedly slipped out of the crowd and stole an empty seat at the counter, which was hardly any better: considering the fact that he was the only man sitting there without a mostly-naked woman in his lap, the Knight attracted the attention of the bartender – not a good idea. "Hey." she said, rather suggestively.

Arthur, without lifting his head from his arms, signaled that he'd heard her by a tiny, half-conscious wave.

"Bad hangover?" she asked, her voice rough with many a tough drink of alcohol.

_Why does she assume I'm having a bad hangover?_ Arthur thought irritably. "I don't want to be here." he grumbled aloud.

"Why not? Every man wants to be here at some point in his life."

The Knight was amazed that she'd heard him, what with the darkened tone in his voice and the boisterous noises coming from behind them. _If only she knew who I was_. he thought. Surely knowing that she was talking to the Golden Knight would shut her up and make her leave him alone. Wait – if she knew who he was . . . he might attract even more attention. What could it do to his reputation if he was found in the _Women of the Streets_? Even worse: what would _Peter_ think?

Arthur raised his head just enough so he could only see the bartender's face. She had tan skin, dark hair, and dark eyes. Man, was everything about this woman rough? Arthur didn't want to find out: to do that, he'd have to look at the rest of her. Her brow furrowed with curiosity and she said, her tone nosy, "Hey, you look familiar."

"I do?" Damnit, maybe she'd already guessed it.

"Yeah. And you say you've never been in here before?" She had a weird accent, too.

Arthur nodded. "Pretty sure."

"Hmm. . ." The bartender regarded his face for a moment more before she pursed her lips in a bulging curve, snapped her fingers, and said with an air of arrogant, pompous triumph, "I got it: you look like the Knight."

_Play stupid, play stupid! _"Do I?"

She nodded, her large earrings swing back and forth wildly with just that tiny shake of her head. "Yeah. You two related?"

_Keep cool, Arthur, cooool._ "I know him."

"Hmm. What's he like?" She set aside the rag she'd been using to polish a glass and leaned on her elbows, face mounted on her hands. Only a foot or so away from him, her eyes were intrusive as a child's, yet lusty as Francis in the morning. That thought alone was bone-tingling and mildly creepy. She must be serious.

_Never thought I'd ever have to describe myself_. . . Arthur thought as he contemplated what to tell her. _Might as well tell her the truth._ "A stick in the mud."

"Aw, cummon, don't lie to me, honey." She was flirting; Arthur was not impressed. "No need to pass yourself off as better'n'anybody. I just wanna know."

"No. Really." Arthur tried to make his image sound as boring as possible. "He's a lazy bum who sits on his ass all day and does paperwork for the King. Pretty shabby, actually."

"Really?"

"Mmhmm."

"And whata'bout you, honey? What_chu_ like?" Maybe she was trying to pull off a motherly-kind-of-flirtatious act or something.

"I'm a stick in the mud too."

"Got any kids?"

"Yeah, I gotta son." Arthur had to wonder to himself later why he'd told all of this to her, and without even putting up a little struggle.

"Yeah? How old is 'e?"

"Ten."

"Aw, they're cute little monsters at that age." Arthur felt as if he should take offense to that, but he found that he didn't. Instead, he took it as a complement. "Gotta wife?"

"No." Arthur wanted to ask her why she bothered. He did.

"Cuz you seem like a modest stick in the mud. You're not looking at me or at any o' the other dolls in 'ere. Whata'bout your kid's Mama? A mistress?"

This was where Arthur stopped. He rose and turned around in the stool to look at the chandelier. "Do you have rooms here?" he asked over his shoulder.

He could see her smirk out of the corner of his eye. She straightened and picked up the glass and towel again. "Staircase to the right." she said, her earrings swinging.

"Thanks."

The bartender noticed the small stack of coins left on the counter after he had gotten up and stalked towards the 'case. She picked it up and plopped it genially into the pocket of her apron, her smile unwavering.

"Francis! Time to go!"

"Honhon~ Mon ami, how is it you found me?" Francis asked, grinning towards the door; the woman in his lap didn't stop licking his neck, or running his delicate, lightly-tanned hands through his silky hair. The level of delight evident in the Bishop's voice was sickening. To the woman, he whispered something that made her giggle with delight. The exchange of those slight words, plus the giggle, only added to the hormonal feel drifting from the room like a heavy fog.

"We're going now. Ivan and Yao have surely noticed our absence by now."

"Hon – Arthur, dear, there's no need to be jealo –" Arthur reached into the room and grabbed the collar of Francis's robe, dragging him off the bed and towards the door. The two tumbled to the floor, the Bishop landing flat on his hip and the woman rolling from his askew lap towards the wall. "Arthur, please, there's plenty of moi to go around –"

"Shut up, frog! Next time you try to drag me to whorehouse, think again!"

"Mug!"

"What did you call me?" Arthur yelled at the woman, who was standing to her feet and brushing dust from her pale blue dress.

She wouldn't look up at him, and instead let the steady stream of curses and taboo insults flow from her mouth while her long black hair tumbled around her.

Arthur's brow had creased, but not in anger. He let go of Francis's collar and walked forward, a questioning gaze flooding his inquisitive green eyes. He was waiting for something, Francis guessed – perhaps a particular insult? "Call me an asshole." the Knight demanded. Apparently, Francis had been right.

The woman scoffed. "Why?" There might have been a tint of humor in her voice, but Arthur tossed it away.

"Say it." he demanded.

"Alright: You're. An. _Asshole_!" On this last word, her head snapped, her bright brown eyes like burnt walnuts. Her face fell immediately, as did Arthur's.

They both straightened and Arthur asked, "Michelle? Wha – what are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question, Arthur." she scoffed again, wringing the edge of her blue dress in her thin, bony hands. Her tone was mocking: "I thought you were better than this." She was not getting sympathetic anytime soon, that was for sure.

"What are you doing here?" the Knight reiterated.

"Couldn't you have guessed?"

"You know, I would have liked to prove my instinct wrong, but luck just isn't in my favor today."

"Why do you think I'm here?"

"To get screwed and wasted."

"Bingo."

"I thought I told you what would happen to you if you ever came back." Arthur meant it to be a threat, but Michelle was having none of it.

"Oh, did you? I guess I had just gone temporarily deaf when you supposedly told me."

"Why did you never listen to me, Michelle? Even when we were together, you never listened!"

"You were a horrible judge of women, what can I say?"

"You have no self-esteem"

"Better to be humble than arrogant."

Francis witnessed this senseless bickering with a puzzled gaze. Was this conversation going anywhere? He'd never known Arthur could be so openly cold. Francis wondered if Arthur was trying to get to anything.

"I wonder, Michelle, did you _ever_ listen to me? Just once?"

Michelle seemed to ponder this for a moment. "Not really. I did – once."

"Oh really?"

"Really."

"Did you ever realize how many things I did for you? How much I listened to you?"

Since when had this gone from being senseless bickering to a relationship fight? This argument didn't have very smooth transitions, Francis noticed.

"You did things for me?"

"Stop being rhetorical –"

"_I let you have Peter_!_ Wasn't that enough_?"

Her words echoed throughout the room, as if those two sentences had drowned out the quiet roars and whoops of the downstairs. Francis wasn't expecting anything remotely close to that. Michelle's lip was quivering, and her burnt walnut eyes looked charred, darkened from their thick, new coating of gloss.

The next moment, Arthur had turned and was storming downstairs. Francis, dumb as a gosling, scrambled to his feet, folding and buttoning his robes back in their places, and followed the Knight back through the pub and out into the street. "What're you going to do, mon ami?" Francis asked as they hurriedly walked down the street. From the way Arthur squared his shoulders – forward, as if he were a bull charging its target – Francis guessed (and guessed correctly) that the Knight had unfinished business to attend to.

The Bishop's question was never answered.

And Michelle was left alone in the room until nightfall.

* * *

><p>When the two men came, with their scabbards peeking out from the lip of their black cloaks, she hardly seemed surprised. Holding her arms out, they bound her wrists and marched her out through the deserted downstairs, into the back of the barred wagon they had waiting for her. <em>Arthur always was a man of his word. <em>she thought as the echo of the locking door behind her mocked her pathetic form.

* * *

><p>"Father?"<p>

Arthur started awake, banging his head precariously against the cushioned back of the armchair seated at his desk. Letting out a harsh exclamation and rubbing the back of his head, Arthur looked to the right arm of his chair. There stood little Peter, with a large crystal jug in his hands. Sir Duckfluff stood next to him, hardly noticeable except for his large, round, white form; his feathers were puffed out and raised, to as to conserve warmth.

The gull looked like a marshmallow.

"What is it Peter?" Arthur asked, rubbing the sleep off his face as his squire set the jug down on an empty square of the antique desk.

"Leon and I thought you could use some water." he said quietly.

"How long have I been asleep?" Arthur asked inquisitively, scooting forward in his chair and noting the papers on his desk.

Peter picked up the ink jar and a quill and swirled it around a bit. "The rest of the servants say that you didn't go to your rooms last night, so, I guess you fell asleep in here." The Squire put the jar down with a frown. "You've left it open too long, it's hardened. You're gonna have to get another one."

"Mmm." Arthur hummed as he hurriedly began to gather the papers into one pile and shove them into a drawer in his desk.

But not without Peter glancing at the top sheet. _Execution Forms? There are forms for that?_ Peter was confuzzed. He looked up at his father, who was leaning on the opposite arm of the chair with his eyes on his hand, rubbing them as if it hurt.

Peter didn't know what had prompted him to ask this question, but the gleam on the tips of his father's fingers intrigued him: "Papa? What happened to Mama?"

Arthur stopped. He looked up and to his son, his eyes red and gleaming, and whispered, "Wh – what did you say, Peter?"

"I said, 'Papa, what happened to Mama?'" the boy recapped.

That was the first time ever, in his entire ten years of life, Arthur noted, that Peter had called him "Papa." Never once had he ever mentioned his mother. Never once had he ever asked what had happened to her.

Arthur took Peter's small hands into his and rubbed them gently, staring down at them when he spoke. "Your mother –" He choked. Why was this suddenly so hard to explain? "Your mother did something very bad. Do you understand, Peter?"

The little boy nodded. The glaze in his big blue eyes prompted Arthur to make him feel as if he should continue. "I'll have to explain it to you when you're a bit older, alright?" Peter nodded in acceptance.

But Papa didn't let go of his hands. And Peter didn't try to pull away. "Is that why you love Alfred, Papa?"

Arthur looked up at his son, bit his lip, nodding. "You're a very smart boy, Peter, I want you to know that."

Peter nodded back. When Arthur's lip began to tremble, as if involuntarily, the Knight said, "You have your mother's eyes." Peter would later figure out that color was not what his father had meant. No, Mama's eyes were brown, and Peter's were blue. But it was the shape and the way they "behaved," as Father put it, that made them so similar.

The Golden Squire opened his arms and bought his father closer, into a tight embrace. Arthur's eyes flooded, and he was quick to hug his son back – tightly, as tightly as he could.

Never once had they hugged before.

* * *

><p>The iron and stone doors clanking around them made Peter want to cringe. But for some reason, he didn't. Perhaps it was that Father was standing right next to him, close and reassuring, or the fact that the two held hands tightly. But, it seemed, that Arthur was the one who needed the courage, for when Peter<em> should<em> have cringed at the noises and intimidating figures, Arthur _did_, squeezing his son's hand tightly, warmly. Peter looked up and gave his father a reassuring smile and tug on the hand. Arthur smiled back – even if the smile was a weak one – and led his Squire down the halls, stair cases, past cells littered with reeking cobwebs and stained walls, until they arrived at a cell where the window was close to the top of the door, barred and dark. Father looked through it – it was at adult eye-level, of course – and pursed his lips. He motioned for the guard with a ring of keys, and the man unlocked the cell.

Inside the cell wasn't any better than outside in the hall. The only difference, you ask? It was darker. And there was a crumpled figure in the corner. Shrouded in a veil of her own black, oily hair, the figure didn't even move when the two stepped into the cell. The door was left ajar; Peter assumed this was a precaution so that he wouldn't feel trapped, but he knew better. It was really for Father.

Arthur cleared his throat. The figure still did not make any visual movements, but Peter felt her eyes on them, her dark, walnut eyes, charred and glazed. "Michelle." Arthur said quietly.

Yes, her eyes were definitely on them. And Peter didn't – couldn't? – see her mouth move when she spoke: "What?" It was a searing tone she used, meant to singe – scare – them. Peter felt his father's hands on his shoulders shudder, if it was only so slight.

"Why _else_ would I come?" There was a slight kind of tug on the 'else.'

When her shoulders heaved, as if in her laugh, Peter started. The sudden jolt of movement had . . . startled him, to say the least.

She looked directly at him, her head tilting a little, kind of like a raven as it regarded you with polished crystals. "What? Do I frighten you?" Her neck snapped stock straight, head moving forward a wee bit more.

Peter stood his ground this time. "No, ma'am." he said, looking right back at her, even if he couldn't directly see her eyes behind her veil.

She chuckled, her shoulders heaving again. Peter thought he heard an "I should" under her breath as she turned, head in the corner. What was there to say next? The moment was quite dead. Arthur gripped Peter's shoulders loosely, but the Knight's hands were tense – his _entire framework _was tense.

The Knight issued his son out of the cell and back down the hall, from the dungeons and into the garden. A large patch of tangles, dead briers, and rose bushes was sprawled over the entrance to the dungeons like a prickly canopy, the thorns lying in dormancy, waiting for their next victim. Out on the grassy lawn, a few of the servants were building a tall structure, thin as a chimney, and two men in black hoods sat with a large piece of metal seated between them, a stone in each of their hands, running it along the piece's slanted edge. Peter couldn't help but feel it was for his –

* * *

><p>The morning fog krept up the Palace walls. The tall barrier protecting the Golden Palace set aside the fog, not letting it peel over into the garden, where stood the ten members of the Golden Monarchy. The two men in black, the same as from the day before, stood beside the crude, makeshift guillotine. A man with a large, bound ledger stood next to Michelle, who was shivering in her pale blue, thin, summer dress. She was daintily piling her hair on top of her head as the man with the ledger read off the crimes set against her.<p>

When he was through, he closed the book with a loud _snap!_ and tied the straps that held it together as he asked Michelle for any last requests. Once her command was whispered safely in the man's ear, he nodded and walked up to Peter, who stood cradled within the edges of his father's dark cloak. "She says she would like to speak with the Golden Squire, sir." he told the Knight. "Alone, sir."

The Knight's brow furrowed, but he nonetheless took his cloak back and ushered Peter forward. The ten-year-old walked up to his mother and stopped before her; she was looking down at something trailing and twining around her hands.

"I was never fit to be a mother." she said. Peter didn't know what it was that he was supposed to say. Thankfully, she continued. "I hope he –" here, she choked, "– raised you well?"

Peter nodded, not wanting to disappoint her. "I think he did." the Squire said.

She must've found this slightly amusing, because her shoulders heaved again – but the quick smile soon fell from her face, and her tone grew somber once more. "Peter, when you find a girl that you like, I want you to listen to what your father has to say about her, alright? I know this doesn't apply to you now, but please – just, promise me that?"

Peter nodded again.

She unfurled her fingers and placed the thing she'd been playing with into his hands. The Squire looked at it: it was a small, metal fish charm on a worn leather string. "It's been mine for as long as I can remember." she said, eyes glazing over. "I – I would like you to have it."

The Squire looked up at his mother, and he enveloped her in his arms, just as the tears spilled from her walnut eyes. Michelle took awhile to register what she should do, how she should react. After a delayed moment, she raised her stone arms and hugged him back, kissing his head and running her fingers through his wacky hair. "I will." he said.

Michelle nodded solemnly, breaking their embrace, and placed the necklace over his head. Peter was escorted back to the comfort of his father's velvet black cape as the first executioner positioned a gray sack over Michelle's head and led her to her place in the seat of the guillotine. The second executioner took up his place by the end of the rope, ax in hand. The first nodded to the second.

Arthur drew the clock over Peter's eyes as the sound of the metal blade sliding against the splintery wood echoed through the courtyard.

And suddenly stopped.

* * *

><p>Not a hair on Michelle's head was harmed that gray day.<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Blu: phEEWWWWW! FINALLY! IT'S DONE!<strong>

**Blue: Um, I don't know what else to say . . . **

**Blu: Wow, our ANs are getting really boring, aren't they?**

**Blue: Yeah, they are.**

**Blu: So, whataya wanna talk about? Wanna rant about Romeo and Juliet?**

**BFTL: YEEESS! OMCC – PEOPLE! I HATE IT! FOR SEVERAL REASONS!**

**1: I am the only person in my class who – apparently – knows how to read Shakespeare the RIGHT way! (You're supposed to read it like a poem: stop at the punctuation, not at the end of the line [unless there's punctuation of course]. I don't care if it doesn't sound like it rhymes!)**

**2: My teacher hates it. It's not fun if your teacher doesn't think it's fun. She called it a B+ play, which, I have to agree with her, but she argues that she doesn't understand why people call it the "love story of all love stories." -_- BULL! MOST PEOPLE LEAVE OUT THE DYING-AT-THE-END PART, Mrs. BACH! THEY'RE TALKING ABOUT THE LOVE BETWEEN R & J!**

**3: Um, I had another thing to say here, but then I lost it . . . . . . oh yeah, all the damn work we have to do for this: AN ENTIRE SPIRAL NOTEBOOK **_**JUST **_**FOR R&J! IT'S TOO MUCH!**

**Blu: Hey, at least we're on your folder cover! (- Juliet)**

**Blue: Yeah, but I'm stuck in a tree! How does that work? (- Romeo)**

**Blu: Which, leaves me to wonder: is it considered incest, selfcest, or yaoi? Honestly, I can't decide . . . . **

**Blue: *looks at AN* Ok, now the AN's tooooo long . . . . . **

**BFTL: REVIEWS ARE LOVED~~!**


	12. Chapter 11: Juniper

**(btw, the dreaded chapter has been changed to chappy 13 . . . just letting you guys know. . . .)**

**Blu: Y'know, I'm not really looking forward to writing this chapter . . . **

**Blue: *pats back encouragingly* Don't worry, Blu. I'm sure you'll get into it, just like with previous chapters.**

**Blu: Ya'know what I've noticed about me, Blue?**

**Blue: What is that?**

**Blu: I really like to plan. Like, plot wise and stuff. I look forward to writing certain parts for who-knows-why, and then I get with writing all the rest of it.**

**Blue: That makes sense.**

**Blu: ya . . . wow, that was a pointless-piece-of-information-that-I-don't-feel-like-deleting-from-the-AN-because-I-have-nothing-else-to-put-up-here. ON WITH THE CHAPTER!**

**. . .**

**Blu: Yeah people: that was my horrible attempt at comedy. **

* * *

><p>Chapter 12: The Bishop<p>

* * *

><p>"Matthias!"<p>

Mathias looked up, picking his head off his table lazily. Man, had he fallen asleep on it again? Kristian looked at him. "Sir?"

"What?" Mathias groaned, stretching his arms out in front of him, lengthy fingers weaving in the air like a cat's little pink toesez. He back cracked stridently when he got up and bent rearwards.

"Um . . . Letter for you." Kristian said, offering the crooked and twisted envelope to his commander.

Mathias took it with lazy fingers and broke the seal, opening it gingerly. 'Position' it read. The Knight, rolling his blue marbled eyes, picked up a pencil and scribbled back lazily: 'Dormant and waiting'.

He handed it back to Kristian with a great yawn, one that would've been made by a lion. "Now if you'll excuse me, Kristian," Mathias said as his second took the paper, "_I_ am going to catch all the dreams I didn't get last night." And the Knight plopped down on his cot, sleep quickly overtaking his drowsy eyes.

"The luck of the hunters' to you, sir." Kristian said as he curled up the letter and slid it back into the pack on the back of the hawk.

"Thank you Kristian."

"What does he want, _noooow_?" Mathias complained as he took the letter again.

"I dunno, sir."

"Pfft! '_Explain_', it says!"

"What?"

Mathias picked up another pencil with a stubborn "Urg!" and scribbled hastily. 'Because of the Silver Company's stubborn' – Mathias searched for the right work – 'position and firm belief that they shouldn't do anything, we've gotten no land gained, no land lost.'

The response came quicker than expected. "Oh skít."

"What is it, sir?" Kristian asked.

"Gupta wants to skin me alive and boil me down to cream to put into his tea."

"I don't know whether I should laugh or be horrified, sir."

"Well, I'm the victim here, so I'm quite horrified, but you can think whatever you want, n'k Kristian?"

"Thank you sir."

"You're welcome Kristian."

"What does the letter say, anyway?"

Mathias cleared his throat. "'Mathias, you are a dastard' is how it starts out."

"Ooo, tough love, sir."

"Oh – no, pfft, it gets worse Kristian, _believe_ me. 'What do you think this is – a traveling circus?' Heh, of _course_ I do, Gupta!" the Knight said with his most sarcastically sincere face. Kristian gave a large, hearty laugh. "'We are in the middle of a war and I have a Knight at my disposal who clearly does not know how to do his job.' _Noo_ faith in me, Gupta? None whatsoever?"

Kristian chuckled again. This is where Mathias held up a finger, as if to tell Kristian, "This is where it starts going downhill." He cleared his throat again. "'I am going to come and check in on you and your apparent lack-of-status. And if I find that you have not whipped those Silver bastards into shape, I am going to be very disappointed. And by "disappointed" I mean "furious."' Pfft, like he's not already! 'There will be several consequences if I am not impressed with your work. I will demote you to Pawn and give charge of your Knights and the Silver Company over to Berwald. Just to name a few. Good day.'" Mathias crumpled the letter and threw it on his desk.

Kristian had paled with the reading of this last part of the letter. He looked despairingly at his commander. "Ber – Berwald, sir?" he gulped, fingering his neck. The Bishop had been known for notorious beheading before he had been granted a place in the Bronze Monarchy; that man – if he was even human to begin with – was able to crack someone's spine with his bare hands. And there were several witnesses to testify with such behavior.

The Bishop was a cruel, cruel man, and everyone knew it.

Mathias nodded. "Bring me Lukas. I need to talk to him."

"Yes sir." Kristian was gone in a flash and back with the Pawn in less than a minute.

"What do you want with me know, eh?" the Pawn complained.

"Have you ever met the Bishop, Lukas?" Mathias asked, leaning on his parchment-and-map-covered desk.

"There's four of them, Hairhead."

"Ours. The Bronze Bishop."

"No."

Mathias screwed his lips into a twist, Kristian rubbed his forehead. "I assume that you've seen him at meetings?"

"I've never paid any attention at those things, I thought you knew that, Hairhead."

Kristian couldn't help but think that they sounded like an old married couple.

"He's not all that hard to notice." Mathias objected.

Lukas rolled his eyes haughtily. "What's he look like?"

"He's that guy who sits next to me on my left, got a perpetually dark shadow on his face, always has his eyes on Tino – the Platinum Bishop."

"Oh, that guy. _Heeee's _the Bronze Bishop? Ha!" Lukas let out a hearty laugh. When he saw the look on Kristian's face, he silenced himself, face wiping clean of its smirk, and turned back to Mathias. "Why are you asking?"

"Cuz if I can't convince you to do anything around here, then he's gonna come and do it for me."

"That doesn't sound so bad."

It was Kristian's and Matthias's turn to laugh. "You're screwed, with an attitude like that!" Matthias roared.

Lukas was not amused. He grabbed Matthias by the collar of his shirt, beginning to choke the Knight, and pulled him close. "And why is that, _exactly_?" Lukas growled.

* * *

><p>Peter was not happy. That had to have been the fourth, extremely expensive antique Alfred had broken in this entire, half-hour session – and the Squire just <em>knew<em> that later it would be his job to clean it all up. "I don't know why you're so _mad_, Alfred." Testy Panda was saying, waving his fan haughtily in front of himself like so many of the court ladies did. "We've captured Manatul, thanks to Arthur and his pirates –"

"After _what_, Yao?" Alfred screamed, turning to the Golden Queen. His blue eyes were ablaze. "What, tell me, after how long?"

Alfred was the only one who had been utterly displeased when the scout came to report to them that Manatul had finally been over-run, despite Feliciano's desperate attempts to secure it.

Yao straightened and looked Alfred straight in the eye. "I think you should take a rest, Alfred." the Queen said, pursing his lips. He looked away from him, shaking his head like a bobble. "You look like a rabid lion."

"_How. Long_?" the King demanded.

The Queen sighed. "A year." she said, as if she were describing the weather or a walk through the garden.

"Exactly."

Peter was extremely tempted to ask why the time mattered. He piped up, much to the displeasure of his father, "Alfred?"

The King straightened, wiped the "rabid lion" look from his face and asked without looking at the Squire, "What is it, Peter?"

"Why does the time matter?" the Squire asked, albeit a bit timidly.

Alfred sighed, and rubbed his eyes. If he exploded on the kid like he had with everyone else, Arthur would skin him on the spot. Even now, the King noticed, the Knight was regarding him with a wary, furrowed look, ready to jump to the defense of his son if things got too ugly. "Because, Peter," Alfred began, choosing his words carefully, "it's been the only big thing that has happened to far in this war that has been in our favor."

"Wha –" Peter gulped "– what do you mean by 'favor'?"

Alfred sighed inwardly. "Do you remember, Peter, when we went and attacked the Black City?" When he saw the little boy nod out of the corner of his eye, Alfred continued, "And how we didn't win? How the Black City beat us? We lost that battle. We had already lost the first attack on Manatul. And then the Treaty didn't exactly work out as planned."

Peter remembered that day in the hallway, when he'd met Emil for the first time. The Squire was kind of happy that the Treaty hadn't worked out – the two Pawns hadn't been a very good paring.

"That's what I mean by 'favor', Peter. This had been the only major thing in the war that has worked out for us so far – after one entire year of losses and _failures_!" He kicked over another stand, its marble bust collapsing on the floor. Fifth.

"But Alfred," Arthur said, laying his hands on his son's shoulders to steady him, "now we have control of their coast –"

This time he kicked the table over, and it toppled across the marble floors like a brick wall. Sixth.

* * *

><p>"Skít."<p>

"Do you understand our dilemma now, Lukas?"

"_Now_ I do." Lukas's words were rather hollow, Mathias noted. The Knight was surprised at how cooperative the Pawn was being. For once. "So what is it you plan on doing?" he asked.

Mathias ran his fingers through his hair. "I need Gupta to see that I could actually get you guys to do something – something that would help us."

"And what would that be, exactly?"

"I dunno. I'm still too amazed with the fact that you're actually agreeing to listen to me." Mathias meant it as a joke.

"You think I didn't notice?" Lukas retorted back, a strain of caution in his voice. "I'm trusting you, too. Remember that."

Mathias nodded. "I know. It's a miracle."

"Cut it with the dry humor and think for a moment, Hairhead."

"Alright."

The two stood, pacing 'round and 'round the tent. Mathias's face brightened for a split moment before he shook his head. "That'll never work. . ." Lukas heard him mumble.

After a while, Lukas plopped down in the chair seated at the desk and picked up a spare piece of parchment and a pencil. Mathias took up residence on his cot and lay there, staring at the ceiling of the tent. The Pawn scribbled something out violently. The Knight groaned, "I'm lost for ideas."

"Me too."

"Are you even thinking of anything?"

"More than you, I bet."

"Touché."

* * *

><p>They were still "thinking" well into the night; the camp outside had gotten louder – like it usually did this time of night – and brighter – no doubt the men had put of a fire at the center of camp. Lukas was near the point of screaming and pulling his hair out in frustration when Mathias face-palmed, still lying on the cot. "The only thing I can think of," he said, voice floating up from his fingers, "is you guys smashing rocks."<p>

"That's what people in _jail_ do, Hairhead." Lukas crumpled up another paper and threw it onto the grass.

"You guys practically _are_ in jail." the Knight pointed out.

"Good point, but how would that help the situation?"

"Dunno."

"Ugh!" Lukas screamed and banged his head on the desk. "How long till your Queen shows up?"

"I'd give it a couple days – unless he was in such an extreme hurry to get here."

"Eh . . . Ya'know, your stupid Knights outside are hardly helping my headache."

"I do have to admit, they _are_ pretty loud. . ."

"What're they doing, _anyway_?"

The Knight shrugged, hands behind his head. "They're men. What do they do at night – besides scream each other's heads off?"

"Find women?"

Mathias shook his head. "No women in this area, I'm sure."

"Could there be a traveling circus?"

"Made up of only women? I doubt it. And even if there was, who's to say the women would be that easy?"

"But they'd be _circus_ women."

"So, what're you saying: all circus women are sluts and whores?"

"Most. That's the stereotype, anyway."

Mathias hung his head backwards over the top of the cot, peering at Lukas with his big blue eyes. "What circuses have _you_ been to?"

"The ones with sluts and whores."

Mathias regarded this for a moment. "I give you that." The tone in his voice betrayed a certain . . . emotion that Mathias wouldn't let out, as if he didn't quite agree but didn't want to cause a fuss. He sat up suddenly and walked over to the tent door.

Lukas joined him in a heartbeat. "Just what _are_ they doing?"

"Hell if I know." The Knight shrugged and pulled aside the tent flap.

Outside, the camp had turned into a madhouse. Tables were set out, seating both Knights and Soldiers; an enormous bonfire in the middle of the camp illuminated everything, casting long shadows over barrels and barrels of ale.

Mathias stood there, blinking for a moment, blue eyes wide and brow furrowed, before he let the flap fall behind them. "Where the hell did they get all the ale?" he asked.

A wandering soldier with not the straightest path said, "Neighboring town, sir! Couple miles back the road." He fell, laughing and hiccupping without a care in the world. A nearby crowd of Knights laughed and fell down with him.

"They're all drunk out of their minds." Lukas growled, more than just a little annoyed. But it was when a caravan of Knights and Soldiers alike came by, hollering, hopping, and dancing, each with a giggling girl flung over their shoulders, that Lukas's brow fell. "Told you they found the women."

Kristian was found sitting on a barrel among a crowd of Knights and Soldiers, all of which were piled on top of one another. He was gesturing wilding with his head and hands, long blond hair swinging back and forth; Jens lay at the knight's feet, obviously pretending to be dead, but with all the fermenting ale in his belly, the bubbles had nowhere else to go besides up to his head.

Mathias appeared next to his second's side and grabbed him by the collar, slapping him back and forth. "What the hell is going on here Kristian?" the Knight hollered.

Lukas, who had ditched Mathias to go find something, came back with two buckets of ice-cold water, direct from the waterfall. He tossed one on his own second, who was still giggling in the ale-soaked mud like a madman. The Silver Soldier hopped to his feet the moment the water chilled his bones. "Jens!" Lukas screamed. "What the frikin hell do you think you're doing?"

"Sir!" Jens and Kristian stood straight as boards, facing their furious commanders, and shared a small glance. They weren't getting out of this unscathed. Jens began to shake uncontrollably, but whether it was from the cold or from the giant green fist hovering next to Lukas, they would never know.

"Sir I can explain –" Kristian started.

"You'd better." Mathias said.

Kristian gulped and rubbed the back of his neck, a stupidly nervous smile crossing his face. "Well ya see, sir – um, a scout came in, about an hour ago, and he – he said that – that King Alfred had finally gotten control of Manatul – sir."

"And you thought this was a _good_ thing, did ya Jens?" Lukas asked his own second.

"Well no sir – of course not!" the Soldier exclaimed. "But – but ya see here, a few of the Knights, they went do to this town a bit, down the road, and they brought back all these women and ale and – sir I swear, this ale is spiked with sumfin' _right Kristian_?"

"Yeahyeah, of course sirs," the knight backed up. "I didn't know a thing from the time I'd drunked it till naoow."

"So why did you drink it in the first place, eh Jens?" Lukas asked, indigo eyes roaring in the light of the bonfire.

"Well, um, I – I – I didn't – sir. Um, they kinda . . . held my head in a barrel till I'd stopped struggling so bad."

"Who?"

Jens looked back up to Kristian, who started. "I don't remember nofin –"

"Cuz you and all your buddies were_ spiked when ya did it, ya asshole_!" the Soldier bawled.

"So Jens," Lukas asked, and his second snapped back to attention, "You're saying that if I went over and dunked your head into one of these buckets right now and then pulled you back out again that you'd be completely stoned?"

The Soldier nodded vigorously. "Yessir, yessir, honest sir, that's the truth –" he hiccupped again, violently.

"Seems one bucket didn't quite get you sober enough." Lukas growled, picking up the second bucket and turning it upside down, plunking it hard on the top of Jens's head. The soldier whimpered inaudibly as the freezing cold water fell across his body again. He gingerly lifted the tip of the bucket up a couple inches, peering directly into Lukas's glowing features. "Sober now?" he screamed.

Jens's jaw quivered and his teeth began to chatter. He gave a small whimper, "Yessir."

Lukas growled, the fist began to tighten. "Good. Now, go around and sober up all of my Soldiers – stick them under the waterfall if you have to –, and then I want you all back in the jail by dawn. Is that clear?"

Jens nodded vigorously. "Yessir."

"Good. Now get to it."

Jens hurried off, his legs just a blur in the shadows, and soon disappeared. Kristian relaxed a bit, letting his shoulders fall, until he turned back to see Mathias still staring at him, his arms crossed. "You too. Everyone in their own tent, the ale on fire, and all the women returned to the village."

Kristian nodded ashamedly and turned off in the same direction Jens had gone. Mathias turned as well, about to walk back to his tent, when he stopped. "Kristian!" he roared, snapping back to his second.

The knight stopped and asked, "Y – yes sir?"

Mathias sauntered over to him and said slowly, "Where is Genevieve?"

Kristian could not hide the horror in his eyes with his measly shrug. "I – I'm not so sure, sir. You know her," he tried to pass off his worry casually, "she's always running off and what not; that girl could have her own disappearing act –"

Mathias nodded. "Find her."

Kristian hung his head, "Yes sir," and hurried off again.

When Mathias turned again, he noted the furrowed look on the Pawn's face. "What?"

"Who is 'Genevieve'?" Lukas asked, intensely curious.

Mathias rubbed the back of his neck. "Um . . . sh – she's my squire." he walked back to the tent, hurriedly.

"I didn't think you had one." Lukas followed intently. "I've never seen her, have I?

"No, n – not really."

"Do I hear an 'I hope not' somewhere in that?"

"Pfft." Mathias was the one who was trying to be casual now, "Where would you get an idea like that –?"

"_MATHIAAAAAASSSSS_!" "I FOUND HER!"

The second voice was obviously Kristian, but the first voice was completely new – and completely feminine. "GEN!" Mathias called into the crowd, hands to his mouth.

Out of the throng of drunken men there came a girl, short and fine-figured, with a floppy purple bow tied in her great blond braid. A pair of silver rimmed glasses mounted on her fine nose, she ran straight into Mathias's arms, tears streaming from her big silver-green eyes. Kristian followed close after her, and stopped dead about five feet from his commander. He shrugged lightly, a timid smile on his face. "I found 'er." he repeated.

"Get back to the job I assigned you, Kristian." Mathias growled, directing the girl, who Lukas assumed was Genevieve, into the large tent.

"Yes sir."

Inside of the tent, Mathias sat the sobbing girl on his cot and poured her a glass of water from the pitcher on his side table. "What happened, Gen?" he asked, voice soft, as he kneeled next to her and handed her the hand-crafted cup.

She took it with slight hands and rubbed the rim gently, her bottom lip quivering quietly. The girl looked up, as if she were staring at Lukas's boots, then shook her head and stared into the cup again. Mathias sighed and said, "Alright." He kissed the top of her head gently and pulled a blanket over her shoulders, ushering Lukas out of the tent.

The Pawn obliged and asked Mathias when the tent flaps had been securely closed, "So . . . ?"

Mathias rubbed his fingers through his hair. "That was Genevieve."

"And she is . . . ?"

"My squire."

Lukas raised an eyebrow, lid's dropping.

"What?"

"There's more to your 'relationship' than just Knight and Squire, otherwise you'd treat her like Vash treats Manda."

Mathias sighed. "She's my niece."

Lukas was having none of this. "_And_?"

"And . . . I'm her uncle?"

"No stupid: why did she just show up out of nowhere?"

"Well, she's been around for a while . . ."

"There's something you're not saying, Hairhead. Spit it out."

"She's another reason Berwald can't come around."

"Now Mathias, what would that be, exactly?"

The Knight and Pawn froze. Mathias's head creaked around on rusted gears and he smiled nervously and the small, intimidating figure behind him. He gulped, "He – hello Gupta."

The South Queen was not in the least bit amused. He turned 90 degrees and took a look at the camp, overlain with Knights and Soldiers, all trying to sober up as quickly as they could. The scent of the spiked ale hung thickly in the air, so thickly that even Lukas was starting to sway a bit.

"Is this what you call 'progress,' Mathias?" the Queen asked. His manner of speaking was impeccably proper.

"Well, the Knights had a little fun without my knowing." Mathias tried his best to make it all seem rather casual. "We just received the news about Manatul's fall a couple hours ago –"

"Do your soldiers think well of this predicament, Lukas?"

"Sir?" Lukas was not the only one surprised by the Queen's use of his name.

"Manatul's fall. It was one of your own cities, correct?" Lukas nodded timidly. Man, for a guy who looked like you could snap him in half with your bare hands, his half-lidded, golden gaze seemed almost venomous. "How do you go about thinking about it? Your soldiers seem as if they had a good time."

"It's been confirmed that the ale was spiked, sir." Lukas said, folding his hands behind his back in an attempt to appear courtlier. "They certainly did not think well of it on their own accord."

"As they should." Gupta said, turning his golden gaze on the Pawn. "No one should rejoice over such a loss."

Lukas gulped, waiting for the moment where that penetrating gaze would lift off of him. When the Queen blinked slowly and turned her head back to the camp, Lukas had to resist looking physically relaxed or even relieved.

"You never answered my question, Mathias." Gupta noted.

As if he were picking up the conversation right from that previous point, Mathias said, "No. I've been thinking about what I could get the Company to do but so far I haven't come up with anything useful."

"How about making a guillotine?"

Both Lukas and Mathias visibly choked. "Sir?" the Knight gulped, fingering his neck.

"Or a set of gallows."

Lukas turned away, absolutely horrified, groping at his neck. What kind of person would openly discuss killing you right in front of your own face, even if it was discreet like that?

"Maybe we could finally put that axe of yours to good use."

Mathias would never look at his favorite weapon with the same eyes ever again. But when Gupta looked at the pair out of the corner of his eye, they both realized that that wild glint on the Queen's eyes was pure amusement. "Heh, hilarious, Gupta, you really had me goin' there," Mathias joked with a nervous smile.

Gupta did not visibly smile, and the glint vanished. "And that was not the question I was referring to, Mathias."

The Knight blinked, the smile and loose stature disappearing. "Wha – what do you mean, sir?"

Gupta faced Mathias head on, looking up at him through that veil of venom again. "_Why_ should I not let Berwald come?" He spoke slowly, each word dropping like a drop of blood from the tip of a dull sword. Mathias looked like he was going to turn blue. "You have no control over your knights – all 400 of them – and you even let the little gray dastards run rampant. What do you think this is, a traveling circus?"

_What a coincidence_, Lukas thought. Mathias had gone pale, as if his very soul had drifted from his body. The Pawn kicked him in the back of the leg, reviving the Knight instantly, as the Queen began to speak again. "As far as I am concerned, you don't even deserve a position on my Monarchy."

Even Lukas paled at this. To be shunned from your position in the Monarchy – your _family_ – seemed a horrible experience. Now he recalled what they'd done to Lovino, over a year ago. Locked him in a dungeon. A dark, cramped space. With no one to talk to.

When Lukas looked up again, he finally noticed the party that Gupta had arrived with: several soldiers, all dressed in bronze armor and black hooded cloaks. The Queen had mounted a small bronze horse brought to him and now he looked down on the use-to-be Knight. "The Bishop with arrive within the week." he said, voice deathly quiet again. "I suggest you try to clean up your camp by high-noon tomorrow. Clear an area of the forest for him to set up his battalion." And he rode off from the disarray, into the forest, his black-cloaked squad following noiselessly.

Mathias was back in the tent without even the slightest whisper. "You have to go, Gen." he said, kneeling down in front of her and taking her small, pale hands on his.

Genevieve looked up desperately, her eyes beginning to water once more. "Uncle," she said, voice shaking and shoulders quivering, "please, please don't send me away again." she fell from the cot and into his arms, her face buried in his neck. "I don't ever wanna go back to the Palace, please!"

"Shhh, shh, don't worry, Gen. You're not going to go back."

"Then where am I gonna go, huh?" she pulled away and looked into his blue eyes. "Why can't I stay here with you?"

"Gen, please, trust me on this." Mathias's gaze and tone were pleading. Genevieve's lip stopped quivering. "I'm going to give you a letter, alright? You're going to deliver it to someone for me, and then you can stay with them, alright?"

"Where am I going?"

Mathias whispered something in her ear, and she threw a fit, whispering harshly, "I can't just ride right across the border, _Uncle_!" she insisted. "I'll get caught! What if they think I'm a spy?"

"You won't get caught, Gen." Mathias persisted, just as quietly. "You're too damn good at making sure you're unnoticeable." He stood and grabbed his cloak from the rack on which it hung. Mathias stood in front of her and began to rib the embroidered hem off the bottom of the article.

"Uncle, what're you doing?" Genevieve asked clearly puzzled by her Uncle's actions. Lukas watched quizzically from the corner of the tent.

Mathias ignored his niece's question and tossed the torn-off hem onto his desk, handing the actual cloak to Lukas. "Rub some dirt across the shoulders for me, will ya?" the Knight said as he ran back to his desk.

"Um . . . sure." Lukas knelt and dug around under the grass, pulling up nail-fulls of dried dirt and rubbed them vigorously across the cloak's "shoulders."

Mathias paused for a moment in his writing, mumbled something inaudibly to himself, and scribbled what looked to be a _PS_ before folding it and sealing it with melted wax. He handed it directly to Genevieve who looked at it for a moment before fingering the top button of her shirt and turning away.

Mathias came back with a spare horse and his own Snowflake, both dark as night. Lukas helped Genevieve mount the spare as Mathias whispered to him, "Make sure we're not missed. I don't want anyone to figure out I've left for any reason whatsoever."

Lukas nodded, but when Mathias turned away to mount Snowflake, Lukas pulled him back. "Just what _are_ you doing?" the Pawn demanded.

Mathias smiled slyly. "Hey, it's ok. Don't miss me." He kissed Lukas's cheek and clamored silently atop his horse before the Pawn had a chance to say anything. The two rode off into the forest, Genevieve holding the battered cloak around her shoulders to make extra assurance that it wouldn't fall off.

Lukas stomped his foot and slapped a hand over his cherry cheek. "Pervert." he insisted with a whisper, shaking his head as if to rid his face of the slight tingling sensation. "Damn it!"

* * *

><p><strong>Blue: naws ^.^ 15 pages later it get's cute ;) hey, was I the only one at the end of the chapter screaming "the LIPS! KISS HIM ON THE <strong>_**LIPS**_** – OR . . . or . . . OR THE FANGIRLS WILL COME FOR YOU!" honestly, Blu, one of these days, I want you to write a chapter of pure fluff, like, no joke –**

**Blu: *so not listening to his buddy's "moment"* Gosh, I feel like I'm such a fail with parts of this DenNor side story! WHY CAN'T IT ALL BE FLUFF (jk, people, jk)?**

**Blue: Don't worry Blu, if you were writing it bad, people would tell us . . . Right?**

**Blu: I don't think I've ever told you guys that constructive criticism (but no flaming) is welcome. It makes me feel as if I'm writing this story for NO ONE when I don't hear from anybody.**

**Blue: People, we (read: **_**I**_**) do not want a re-run of a couple chapters ago. PULL IT TOGETHER! BLU NEEDS LOVE! ALL WRITERS DO!**

**. . . **

**Blu: yeah, and I know the Monaco thing was totally random, but I wanted her in here somewhere, and I needed another dilemma. . . . . . . Oh, and for those of you who think of foreshadowing while you're reading, NO, Monaco is NOT the secret pairing mentioned a couple chapters ago. She wasn't even in my plot map until, like, just now.**

**Blue: Btw Blu, nice discreet cameo for me.**

**Blu: People wouldn't even notice if you hadn't pointed it out. . . . **

**Blue: Touché **

**Blu: Plus, if I wrote a chapter/one-shot of all fluff, I'd probably be so engrossed in the fluffiness of it all that it wouldn't even be halfway decent.**

**Blue: Shoot**

**Blu: OK *shoots 4****th**** wall with bazooka***

**Blue: Blu. Blu, what the FrUKing frik. I **_**just**__. __**Painted**_**.**_** The fourth wall**_**!**

**Blu: ;) later peeps! *runs away, whimsically***

**Blue: *pulls out matching bazooka* GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!**

**Battalion: 300 – 1,300**


	13. Chapter 12: White Poppy

**(don't think I ever told you guys that this chapter was the one you were gonna hate me for; it was originally chappy 12, but when I was doing more plot work, I decided 'hey, let's bump it back a chapter' so, yeah. Enjoy.)**

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><p><strong>Blu: *announcer voice* the long awaited *dramatic spotlight* CHAPTER THIRTEEN! I warn you now, people: this chapter is depressing!<strong>

**Blue: Totes. Mai. Goats. **

**Blu: Blue, if we had pet goats . . . **

**Blue: Mrs. Martin has fainting goats. And a couple alpacas.**

**Blu: *eye twitch* O.o DAMN YOU Mrs. MARTIN!**

**Blue: And Midnas and Wolf have their zombie alpaca.**

**Blu: But hey: we have Saltie! **

**Blue: I'm still amazed at my own decision to let you keep that molten-salt-crystal-spitting dragon. **

**Blu: *breakdown moment* YOU KNOW YOU LOVE HIM!**

**Blue: *face-palm* Just ignore us guys. Read the chapter already.**

**Blu: *petting said molten-salt-crystal-spitting dragon* It's OK, Saltie. Blue just doesn't know how to express his feelings (he must be the emotionally constipated German half of BFTL).**

**Blue: Blu, would you stop talking to that thing? You can tell by the look on its face that it doesn't understand a single word you're saying. (And what, you're the Italian side?)**

**Blu: SALTIE UNDERSTANDS EVERYTHING I SAY, DON'T YOU SALTIE? (duh I'm the Italian side: I do all the cooking around here; you clean; and, we're both Irish and French, so, we're both rapists who like whiskey ;{] )**

**Blue: *to audience* READ THE DAMN CHAPTER ALREADY! (that's just not fair. . . .)**

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><p>Chapter 13 – The Boards<p>

* * *

><p>The moment Feliciano took a seat at the table, he didn't even notice the rest of the room fade. Everything else went black, as if he were in a dark room with a single spotlight on the table.<p>

The table was nothing that the King ever remembered being in the Palace. He'd surely never seen the thing in his life; but he could not shake the feeling that it was more familiar to him than his suit of armor, the personalities of the people he spent every day with, his room, the comforters and blankets and sheets on his bed.

Crafted from what looked to be the finest ivory, inlaid with the brightest silver, decorated with the purest gold, the table just sat there, glittering in its spotlight. Feliciano had been almost intimidated by it, at first, but once he sat down in the plain wooden chair seated at one of its sides, he found he could not get back up again, not even take his eyes off of it.

On the table sat a chess set. Board of checkered sapphires and rubies, Feliciano almost wanted to reach out and touch it, make sure he wasn't just imagining something so magnificent, though he doubted that such skill was the work of a human – living or long dead. The pieces on his own side of the board were crafted from Silver, though they looked heavier than lead. On the opposite side, the pieces were gold, brilliant, making his silver ones look meager in comparison.

But Feliciano would soon discover the real puzzle here: who was his opponent?

* * *

><p>Genevieve shivered under the cloak. Why did it have to be winter? Winter obviously wasn't her favorite season; she was much more of a summer kind of girl, the season with flowers and cute little creatures scrubbing around in the grass, the birds chirping. Genevieve sighed, remembering her days back at the Palace: everything about the south was as brown as can be. Brown dirt, brown wind, brown houses, brown buildings, brown animals, brown leaves in the trees, even the native people were all <em>brown<em>. Uncle Mathias, her father and a few other members of the Monarchy were the only people in the entirety of Brown Country that were fair-skinned, pale-eyed, and blond.

Leaves crumpling behind her made the girl jump. She stared, rubbing the lenses of her glasses, into the dark night. Genevieve shuffled closer to the horse she'd been given as she called, "Who's there?"

A man appeared from the shadows, almond hair, amber eyes, that curl . . . Oh – boy, he looked so _familiar_! "K – . . . King Feliciano?"

He shook his head, the prominent, rather square curl protruding from his head waving back and forth. "No, signora." he said, smile bright and white. "I'm'a his cousin." His accent was absolutely adorable, Gen noticed as the man took a seat on a root across from her, taking off his black felt, red-feathered hat like a nice gentleman. "You'a know li'ttle Feli~?"

Gen had never heard anyone call the King that before, but apparently they were related, so it didn't really matter. And if you added his smile and accent, Genevieve just wanted to go over and pinch his cheeks. "Um, well, no, I – I don't know him personally." she said, wringing a corner of the cloak in her hands.

"Aw, shame'a: he's a ni'ce fellow!"

"I'm sure he is."

"Oh, pardon me, signora, but'a – do'u know'a wh'ich way the Black Palace is?" he asked, gesturing through the forest around them. "I'm'a supposed to go'a see him, but I am afraid that I am'a rather lost."

"Oh, um, yes, I am actually traveling there as well –"

"Bene, signora!" he yelled, throwing his arms in the air and running over to her. After he'd kissed her on both cheeks, a long blurb of some strange language came flowing from his mouth, accompanied by a "Si?" at the end. But his smile was just so perfect and his eyes so bright and happy than Gen just had to nod, even though she had no idea what he had just said.

He was just too cute.

"Grazie, grazie, grazie signora! We leave right away –" here he stopped and regarded her with a look of patience, "– unless, mio bella, you are winded and have stopped for the night?"

_Why is he suddenly calling me "Bella?" That's not even my name . . . _Genevieve thought. "Um," she started, "well, I have, but I'm not really all that tired and if I keep going I'm likely to get rid of the cold –"

"Grazie _bella_!" After two more kisses on her cheeks and long blurb of that flowy language – again –, he said, "Come, come, we leave'a right away!"

". . . ok."

* * *

><p>"Rodderich?"<p>

"What is it, Kiku?"

"There is something wrong with Feliciano."

". . . What do you mean?"

"I mean – um, well," the Black Bishop looked confused, as if he were trying to find the right words, "He's not moving – really . . ."

The Knight took alarm at this. "What do you mean 'he's not moving'? Have you called for –?"

"Nonono, that's not what I meant!" the Bishop insured, waving his hands in front of himself as if he were guilty of a crime. "He's alive, and he's doing fine, and his heart's beating and all that, but . . . Just come and see!"

The Bishop grabbed the Knight by the sleeve and led him down the halls. Upon reaching the Great Hall, Rodderich found the rest of the Monarchy crowded around something in the center of the room. "What's goi –" Rodderich found himself hushed by everyone, who looked up in a flash with anticipating glares. The Knight nearly stumbled back, stunned by their reactions. He took light, soundless steps forward and peeked over Lars's shoulder.

Feliciano set at a moth-eaten, rat-chewed table, a beaten-up, weathered chess set sitting on top. Two white pawns, three black pawns, and the white queen were out on the board; one of the white pawns had disappeared, nowhere in sight. He was currently reaching for a piece; and that's all he was doing. It wasn't as if he were going for one piece, stopping to think, and then reaching for an entirely different one – oh no. It was one continuous stretch – and it seemed to go for eons, as if the Black King were in eternal slow motion. And no one could tell what piece it was that he was reaching for.

Rodderich leaned in so close to Kiku that the small Bishop thought the Knight might fall over and onto him. "How long has he been doing this?" the Knight asked, his voice so barely a whisper, not even a breath.

Kiku replied, just as hushed, "A few of the servants have confirmed that Feli said he couldn't sleep last night, so he wandered out of his room, thinking to go for a midnight walk. The servants said that he came in here and never came back out, even when the rest of us –" he gestured minutely to the rest of the Monarchy "– started to look for him."

The Knight nodded. "Has anyone tried to move him?" The tone Rodderich used betrayed some annoyance.

Kiku rubbed the back of his neck. "Well," he began, "no. Actually – no, we've _tried_, but . . ."

"'But' what?"

"I felt as if I shouldn't have moved him – even touched him."

The Knight lifted an unbelieving brow. "Say again."

"It's true, Roddy!" the Bishop insisted. "This – this kind of . . . _wave_ came over me and I just . . . I don't know. I couldn't. Everyone else felt the same."

"Have you tried talking to him?"

Kiku nodded. "It seems as if he's in another world, Roddy: he won't speak to us, acknowledge us. To him, we must not be here at all."

The two eventually went back to watching.

* * *

><p>By high noon, they still didn't know what piece Feliciano was reaching for. When Vladimir came in, finger pecking Rodderich on the shoulder and asking what was happening, the Knight began to usher everyone out, tapping their shoulders and nodding in the direction of the door. He left Lovino and whispered into his ear something so soft that Vladimir could not hear. The Pawn frowned – like usual – but nodded and turned back to the game, resting his chin on a walking stick that he'd brought with him.<p>

After the botanist and Knight were outside, the doors had been closed, and the Monarchy kept waiting, Rodderich said in his usual, commanding voice, "Lovino will watch Feliciano; he has agreed to notify us if he notices something unusual." The rest of the Monarchy seemed satisfied (at least, a little) with this answer, so the Knight turned to Vladimir. "Mr. Voltaj, what is it you needed to say?"

Vlad ran his black gloved hand through his hair. "I thought Feliciano was playing tricks on me for a moment."

The Monarchy's brows furrowed. "What do you mean?" Ludwig (who had just recently been let out from the infirmary) asked.

The botanist sighed. "Two people – a man and a young woman – showed up at the gates and demanded that they see the King as soon as they could. The man looks _exactly_ like Feliciano – down to the _curl_ –"

The Monarchy ran to the gates, Vladimir hot on their heels. Yes, indeed, the man did look _just_ like Feli. He shouted in that loving, suave language "Tutto bene!" and threw his arms in the air, kissing everyone on the cheeks.

"It's very good to see you again, Piero." they all said, some with smiles, some with worry.

"_Bene grazie_!" he yelled, that pearly smile gracing his face.

Vladimir was the one who cleared his throat, silencing everyone from their greetings, and motioned to the horse stationed about ten feet away from the crowd, closer to the gate. "Rodderich, this young lady is Genevieve." Accent and all, man.

The Knight stepped forward and, for the first time, noticed the girl hiding in the shadows of the wall. She stood next to her horse almost as if in fright; the movement and shuffling that came from under her cloak could only have been made by frantic moving hands. When noticed, the girl stepped forward, a bit unsure of herself, and pulled her horse along as well (but whether that was because she didn't want it straying off or she didn't want to stand alone in front of this crowd of really important people, they couldn't guess). She said, her voice resonating through the empty courtyard, "I have a message for the King."

Rodderich stepped forward and offered his hand, kissing hers in return – politely, mind you – and said, "Hello Genevieve. I am the East Knight; you may call me Rodderich. The King is currently engrossed in his work and cannot come to see you himself, but I would gladly take the message you have for him and get it to him as soon as I can."

Genevieve shifted on her feet, her lips twisting in thought. Uncle never said anything about giving the letter to someone else to give to the King . . . "Um, a – are you sure, sir?" she asked, almost crushing the letter in her hidden hands. "Are you sure I can't give _him_ the letter?"

Rodderich nodded. "I am afraid so."

She looked down, a look of failure crossing her face, and sheepishly offered a hand from underneath the cloak. Clutched in her delicate fingers was a slip of parchment, lightly yet hastily creased and sealed with dark bronze wax. "A – are you the one in charge here?" she asked as the Knight took the letter and looked quizzically at the colored wax.

"At the moment, I am."

"Th – . . . then I guess it's ok for you to look at it."

"Are you sure, Genevieve? I won't look at it if –"

"I'm sure that it's fine." she said, voice growing in strength. "Please, read it."

Rodderich took her tone with caution and carefully broke the seal; behind him, Genevieve noticed the rest of the Monarchy filing away into the doors from which they had all come, that man from the woods going with them gaily. Two stayed behind: that man from before who had come to great them, Vladimir, and another that she hadn't seen. But before she had the chance to clearly inspect the new man, the East Knight's head snapped back up. Genevieve snapped back into place as well and asked, a bit of worry weaving in her voice, "What?"

"Who – who gave you this letter, Genevieve?" the Knight asked.

"M – m – my Uncle, sir, the South Knight, Mathias of the Bronze Kingdom, sir." She replied, albeit a bit rapidly.

Rodderich thought for a moment then looked over his shoulder at the two men, standing a bit awkwardly next to each other. "Sebastian!"

The new man ran up, a look of relief crossing his freckled face. "Yeah?"

"Genevieve?" Rodderich turned back to her and she straightened again. "My adopted son, Sebastian."

"Oh, um, he – hello." Genevieve said shyly, her arm stock straight like it were a branch or plank.

Sebastian gave her a soft smile and kissed her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." he said, folding his hands behind his back.

"Sebastian, would you mind escorting Genevieve to her rooms?"

She was all too surprised to hear this. As Sebastian opened his mouth to reply, she hurriedly said, "My – my rooms?"

"Yes. You will be staying with us, as per your Uncle's request."

Genevieve almost fainted. She didn't have to go back to Brown Country! _What a relief_, she thought, until she suddenly remembered that Uncle Mathias had told her so. Moment of absolute relief ruined. But still – "Thank you!"

Both Rodderich and Sebastian laughed a little. _Like father like son, I guess – even if he is adopted._ she thought. Rodderich whispered something in Sebastian's ear and then strode of in pursuit of the others, through the archway. Sebastian called to two stable hands which quickly jotted over. One took the reins of the horse from Genevieve. She grabbed the saddle bags off the back of her horse as it was led away. The other, under Sebastian's orders, gingerly took the bags from her and said that he would put these in her room.

As he ran off, Sebastian turned to her and said kindly, "Your room won't be freshly prepared for a little while. May I suggest that we take a walk through the gardens?"

Genevieve instantly perked up. "You – you have a garden?"

He nodded. "I will admit," he started as he led her towards the archway, "they are not at their full splendor at this time of year – winter and all –, but they're still quite beautiful."

"Oh, I bet they are." Genevieve said as they walked down a hall in silence, aiming for the door at the opposite end. Once there, Sebastian kindly opened the door and ushered her forward.

True, many of the trees were barren, gray, but many others were lively conifers, their cones close and closed tightly. The garden was filled with towering pines, short cherry blossoms, apples, maples. The pair settled down at a bench under a tree with small, brown growths on its branches. Genevieve tossed her head back and looked up at the sky through the branches and studs. "What kind of tree is this?" she asked.

"Ginkgo."

She chuckled. "That's a funny name."

Sebastian laughed too. "Yeah, I guess it is."

There were a few moments of silence before Sebastian asked, "So the South Knight is your Uncle, eh?"

She nodded. "Yep."

He nodded and looked off back at the garden.

Genevieve added a bit later, "I – I was also his Squire at one point."

Sebastian took interest in this. "Really?" When she nodded, he asked, "Why did you not keep the position – if you don't mind my asking?"

Genevieve twirled her messy braid and looked away. "My – . . . my father didn't like it."

"So he made you give up the position?"

She nodded. "Yeah. At one point, he was looking for someone suitable to be the Squire, just to make sure that I couldn't go back."

Sebastian did not press the matter further.

* * *

><p>Feliciano noticed pretty quickly into the game that each piece was stylized; no two were exactly the same. Sure, all the pawns looked like pawns, the rooks like rooks, knights like knights, bishops like bishops, queens like queens, kings like kings. But they all had a little something extra – a little . . . pizzazz. For instance, the Knight that Feli had just moved had some sort of leafed twig clamped tight in its mouth. The leaves, not silver, were painted a powdery sort of white.<p>

* * *

><p>Lovino was bored out of his mind. It took one hour for his brother to reach a piece, move it to its designated place, and for one of the white pieces to move in response on its own accord. He'd asked for books (which he'd quickly thrown away in boredom), pieces of paper and pencils to sketch (which were torn to shreds because they all turned out so damn crappy), and was left with only one other option: food. They'd brought him grapes, they'd brought him apples, they'd brought him broccoli – ew! –, they'd brought him goddamn peaches, for heaven's sakes! He hated peaches. The fuzz always seemed to get stuck to his skin and he'd be itching for the rest of the day. They were much too squishy for his liking and he always banged his teeth on the goddamn pits.<p>

Tomatoes were so much better. Not the seeds. The seeds could perish, for all Lovino cared.

The older brother glanced at his dope of a younger brother, who was waiting for a response from the Opponent. Lovino looked back at the board for a second.

The scream hit the hall just as Lovino saw the white queen knock over a black knight.

* * *

><p>"You don't have to go, ya'know." Lukas said as Mathias marched from inside the tent to Snowflake, positioned outside, back to the tent, back to Snowflake, tent, Snowflake, tent, Snowflake.<p>

Mathias's smile was none the wiser. "I can't tell if you're worried about Berwald coming or you've gotten so attached to me that you don't want me to leave –"

"I'm not attached to you, Hairhead. At all."

"Then what's with the nickname?"

"What else would I call you?"

"'Mathias'?"

"Too long."

"Too bad."

"So sorry."

"So sad."

Lukas was just glowering now.

Mathias's grin widened. "See? We complement each other!"

"You sound like some love-obsessed teenager."

"You have something against a joke?"

"You're annoying when you do that."

"And I'm not at any other time?"

"_Especially_ when you do that." Lukas clarified.

Mathias rolled his eyes playfully and went back to the tent.

"But I mean seriously, she kicked you outta the Monarchy, not the camp –"

The Knight's voice drifted from within the tent. "Aw, just say it, Lukky: you don't want me to go!"

"Since when did I ever give you clearance to call me 'Lukky'?"

Snowflake again. "You didn't. Just like I never gave you clearance to call me 'Hairhead'."

"I'd call you that anyway, Hairhead." Lukas insisted.

"I'd call you that anyway, Lukky!" Mathias really had to stop grinning like that, it was starting to make Lukas's skin crawl. Kinda like that discreet kiss-on-the-cheek had.

Damn it.

Lukas huffed and turned away, crossing his arms again and leaning against one of the poles of the tent's structure. Mathias noted this and said as he walked back to the tent again, "Well, I have to stay until Berwald shows up, so you're stuck with me for about four or so more days –"

"So why the hell are you packing all your stuff _noooow_?" Lukas asked.

The Knight shrugged. "To be prepared. The less time I spend with Berwald, the better. He and I never really did get along very well. Not in an enclosed area, anyway."

"So what, the moment he comes, you're gonna hightail it outta here and leave us all to suffer?"

"Aw, Lukky! You _really_ don't want me to go!"

"_Stop calling me 'Lukky'_!" the Pawn snapped, marching into the tent. It was almost barren now, the cot, desk, chair, pen and parchment the only things still in place. He moved aside the piles on the desk and sat on it, facing the entrance flaps. Mathias stood there, that stupid, endearing smile on his face. Lukas snapped, crossing his arms, "Stop staring at me like that!"

"But you're so cute, Lukas."

The Pawn blushed. _Noo_, he did _not_ like the way his name rolled off the Knight's tongue.

"Shut up." he growled.

"But it's true, Lukas." Mathias stood in front of the desk now, looking down on the Pawn with some – stupid – look in his massive blue eyes.

"I told you to stop staring at me." Lukas said, shifting on the desk and looking away, pretending to be mad.

The Knight laid his forehead on the top of Lukas's and whispered, "Tell me that to my face."

No doubt about it he was grinning. Lukas glared away and turned rigid, unmoving, unwavering. He really had to resist punching Mathias in the chin. Said Knight raised a hand and gently ran the tips of his fingers along Lukas's chin. The Pawn shuddered, looked up, and Mathias gently kissed his lips.

Lukas seemed to pass out for a moment – just a moment – because the next thing he knew, his arms were wrapped around Mathias's head; the Knight was leaning into him with his own arms around Lukas's waist and back. The worst part? They had their tongues in each other's mouths.

But Lukas didn't think it was gross. Not really. Sure, to Lukas the thought of sharing saliva had always been a repulsive thing to think about, but now that he was doing it . . .

"_LU-KAS_!"

The two of them broke apart like a bolt of lightning had just struck. The Knight gulped and gasped for air. "D – do'you think he needs you?"

Lukas shook his head, eyes ravenous. "No." He wrapped his arms back around Mathias and brought him closer, sharing another heated kiss, nails digging into the Knight's back.

Another yell pulled them apart. "LUKAS! WHERE ARE YOU?"

"But what if it's something important?" Mathias asked, hair looking more messed up than normal.

"Since when do I _care_?"

This new side of Lukas was oddly intriguing to Mathias. "Good point."

Lukas gave Mathias a ginger look and glanced back at the tent flaps. "Do you really think I should go?"

The Knight shrugged. "At least go check."

Lukas hopped of the desk gently and walked out of the tent – "Ah! Oh my – I – I'm so sorry, Your Majesty, I – I didn't mean to run into you."

"It is fine Lukas, I am sure." the Queen insisted.

"Yessir, um, e – excuse me." The Pawn ran off to go check with his second. _Whatever he needs me for, it better be worth it._ he thought.

* * *

><p>It hadn't been.<p>

* * *

><p>Knights at one group of tables, Soldiers at another, and one table for Gupta, Mathias, Kristian, Jens, and Lukas. The knights were trying their best to make the evening less tense, the Soldiers sent up soft murmurs from time to time. The commanders' table was just pathetic; Gupta was the only one who ever talked, mostly about the current state-of-affairs of the war. Mathias was glaring at his plate. Still being treated like a member of the Monarchy was a sick thought to think about. Jens and Kristian shared knowing glances between bites. Lukas was looking everywhere but at the other people seated at the table.<p>

If he so much as glanced at Mathias, the Pawn feared he might lose it. The . . . incident this afternoon seemed to form some sort of barrier between the Knight and Pawn. Seriously, all Lukas wanted to do was climb up next to Mathias and snuggle (Lukas couldn't believe himself: had he really just used the word 'snuggle'? That was a word chick's used when they got all shy and bashful!) into his arms. Right now. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently it was.

Gupta, seeing that his efforts were failing, stood up and raised his goblet. The camp quieted immediately as everyone grabbed their glass and stood as well. He looked at the three groups of men and said, voice echoing above the roar of the tumbling waterfall, "To King Alfred! May he live a long and prosperous life after the war is won."

There was a small round of hesitant applause. The knights drank with a tentative hand and slight glances between each other. The Soldiers didn't drink at all, preferring instead to raise their glass and not open their mouths or swallow, or perhaps hide the act of emptying their cup onto the grass behind the backs of their comrades.

Mathias, Jens, and Kristian all drank slowly; Lukas brought the cup to his lips, hesitating a bit. But when he noticed the look of fiery ginger the Queen was giving him, he downed his cup in one large gulp.

Lukas went to bed with a headache that night, meandering unknowingly into Mathias's tent and taking residence on the cot.

* * *

><p>Lukas rubbed his forehead. Damn, the night had not been all that good to him, apparently. Eternally dark in the tent, Lukas grumbled as he stumbled his way out of the cot, fumbling around with flailing arms, searching for the tent entrance. Once found, he opened it cautiously and peeked outside.<p>

What the hell was this, winter in the poles: _why the hell was it so pitch black everywhere_?

"Lukas!"

The Pawn jumped and – almost – screamed. "What?" he yelled back, searching around for even the slightest movement in the darkness. He stepped from the tent and immediately felt warm; so apparently the sun was still around – well, its heat, at least, if not its light.

"What's wrong Lukas?"

The voice sounded closer, much closer, but Lukas could still not pinpoint its source. "Mathias?" he asked.

The person made a small sound that made Lukas think of a small, sniffling mouse. But much more over exaggerated. "You actually said my name!" Yup: defiantly Hairhead.

The Pawn turned around and around in tight circles, trying to make sure that he wouldn't accidentally step somewhere that he wouldn't want to. "Where the hell are you?"

Mathias laughed. "Don't be silly, Lukas, I'm right behind you. Stop moving so much –"

Lukas turned again and looked. Nothing. Nothing but velvet black. "_Where_?"

Mathias roared at this. "Aw, Lukas, that's a good one."

"I'm more than serious, Hairhead: _where. The_. _Hell_. _Are_. _You_?"

"Silly Lukky, stop goofing off: you're staring right at me!"

Lukas's brow furrowed. Gingerly, he reached up unseeing fingers in the velvet black and waved them around gently. Hands met his, fingers twining. The other hands were warm – tense. "What's wrong, Lukas?" Mathias now sounded slightly concerned.

"I – I don't know. . ." Mathias was definitely there; this couldn't have been a dream. A thought came to Lukas. "Wh – what do you mean 'I'm looking right at you'?"

"What – you can't see me?"

"I can't see a damn thing. Everything's gone all black."

"Th – that's impossible, Lukky." There was a slight chuckle in his tone.

"Well, apparently, it's not!" Lukas snapped back at the Knight.

A new voice came into the conversation, far off, but sounding rather near. Perhaps the newcomer was behind Hairhead? "What's the matter, Mathias?"

"I'm not sure." the Knight replied, and one of his hands became slightly looser. The Knight must be looking back over his shoulder.

"Is that Kristian?" Lukas asked.

He heard the man laugh haughtily, likely grabbing his toned stomach and shaking. But Mathias tensed.

"You can't see him, can you Lukas?" the Knight asked. He must've moved closer, because his hands shifted and the whisper was loud.

"No. I've told you, everything's black –"

Mathias's hands clenched Lukas's tightly. He gently let go and, just for a moment, Lukas was once again lost in the velvet. The Knight gently grabbed his face and turned it, up and to the right. He waited a bit before he said, "Can you see anything now, Lukas? Any bright spot, did anything change?"

"No. What am I looking at?"

"The sun."

Lukas shook his head. "No, I can't be. The sun's way to bright – I'd be blind if I looked at it for more than ten seconds."

Mathias grabbed him by the shoulders. "Can you still use your magic? Your troll?" The Knights tone sounded hurried, almost desperate.

The Pawn thought that was a silly question, but he raised his hand, felt the warmth of swarming green, saw it clearly. "I can see it!" he gasped.

Mathias withdrew for a moment. Lukas concentrated on the green around his hand, the only thing he could see in the velvet; a hand came in, twining its fingers with his. The green slowly crept up the wrist, arm, shoulder, neck, face. "Mathias!" Lukas stumbled back, losing all contact and visuals immediately. The Knight reached forward, hand on the Pawn's wrist, and pulled him forward, wrapping him in his large, strong arms.

The truth hit Lukas in the back of the head like a ton of bronze bricks. He hadn't cried since . . . Since when? But now, as he buried his face deep into Mathias's shirt, he wanted nothing more than for his brain to start working again, working properly. His once-violet eyes clouded over.

And it wasn't from the tears.

* * *

><p>There was frenzied knocking on the door, and harsh "<em>Vladimir<em>!"s coming from the person on the other side. Soo opened it and nearly got his forehead head pounded out of him.

The demon began to ask, "What's the prob –"

"Where's Vladimir?" Sebastian screamed. His eyes were wild, skin flushed.

"He's in his room –"

The Squire ran past him and nearly kicked down one of the two other doors on the opposite wall. The vampire inside jumped and asked, "Sebastian, no need for such –"

"Vladimir, you have to come quick!" he screamed.

The vampire straightened and gave the Squire a lingering look.

"_Something's wrong with Rodderich_!"

The two botanists shared a look. Vladimir grabbed Sebastian by the arm and the two ran out of the room as Soo began to search through cupboards and boxes and chests. "What happened?"

"I don't know –" the Squire stuttered. "I – I – I heard a scream so I ran for the kitchen and – and –" he seemed to be unable to continue. He'd gone deathly pale and his teeth were chattering.

Vladimir understood the dire need of the situation. "Get your mother and bring me a stretcher from the infirmary."

"E – El – Elizaveta is in the kitchen too, sir."

The two began to run. Sebastian threw open the swinging doors and pointed to an area in the back where a crowd had gathered, shouting frantically to each other a struggling greatly, as if they were trying to pin down a livid lion.

Vladimir pushed people out of his way, taking in the scene before him. the Knight was on the ground with several people trying to hold down his flailing arms and legs. The Queen sat holding on to his head and trying to move it with the movements of his spine, so as to not accidentally snap it. Tears were pouring down her slippery face, her voice quivering as she screamed for Rodderich to hold on, help was coming.

"_Don't touch him_!" the vampire screamed. Everyone jumped and back away in a flurry, clearing the aisles like a hurricane. "Sebastian, Elizaveta, go get me a stretcher!"

The two ran from the room like a dinghy in a gale. Vladimir climbed on top of the thrashing man, pinning down all his limbs with unmatched strength. The Knight's skin was ashen, almost volcanic. Welts broke out all over his face, neck, arms, and those that had bursted were oozing all sorts of bodily concoctions. His eyes were rolling like marbles, his once-glossy hair falling out in bunches. Biting a glove off and spitting it away, Vladimir dug the bubbles and foam out of his mouth and sniffed the inside of his throat.

Nothing.

Sebastian arrived with the stretcher at the same time Soo came in with a large case and box. "Belts!" Vladimir yelled as he and Soo hauled Rodderich onto the stretcher. "I need belts!"

Twenty were easily offered. The demon and vampire took four and strapped Rodderich to the stretcher. "Sebastian, take him back to the infirmary and clear out the room – but _don't. Touch. Him._"

The Squire nodded and was off in a flash, tears raining down on the smooth tiles of the kitchen floor. "What was it?" Soo asked Vladimir in a quiet whisper as the two picked up the bag and box and followed. Vladimir shook his head and mouthed something back, not daring to speak it for fear of being over-heard.

Once safely inside the infirmary, the two botanists were brought three tables, large bowls, mortars, herbs, everything at their service. The wounded and weakened were waiting out in the hall, waiting to be moved to the Great Hall. Vladimir sent Soo inside and turned to face the rest of the people, staring with waiting, hoping eyes.

"I would like to thank you all for your cooperation." He said, grabbing the handles of the doors and bringing them close to his sides. "My assistant and I will do all we can to ensure the Knight's well-being."

"Will he live?" someone of the crowd asked.

Vladimir had closed the doors.

* * *

><p>"We're running out of <em>time<em>, Soo!"

"I'm sorry, but I don't know what else we can do, sir!" the demon whispered back harshly.

The convulsions and twitching had stopped, eyes had closed. It was almost as if Rodderich had found a small measure of harmony.

"I say we just tell them all what they want to hear and –"

"No, Soo." Vladimir insisted. "This is _my_ fault, and I am going to do my best to fix it."

"Sir, the only thing I can think of that could maybe – just maybe – solve this would be for you to –"

"I _KNOW_ Soo!" Vlad screamed, grabbing his hair. He turned and said in a much quieter voice, almost talking to himself, "Such an idiot – why the hell did I just throw it away?"

"Cuz you couldn't burn it."

Vladimir felt like his knees were going to give out on him. He turned and looked back to Rodderich; the look on the Knight's face was . . . rather peaceful. Vladimir rubbed his face, crystals dancing in his eyes, and removed his coat, rolling up his sleeves. Soo got the bowl, the towel, and some water, tearing Rodderich's sleeve and rubbing it free of dried blood and ooze. Vlad stood over Rodderich's head, sniffing his neck. Though the smell was repulsive, it made the vampires fangs appear nonetheless.

Soo held the bowl and towel at the ready, under Rodderich's clean wrist. Vladimir took up his position, kneeling on the ground with the Knight's wrist between his hands like a head of corn, and bit.

The blood began to dribble from his lips, down his throat, soaking his shirt. The crystals tumbled down the sides of Vladimir's cheeks; he found a glob of the Nivis oleander's poison and sucked it up, through his fangs. The spike and spark of that poison against his own was enough to make the vampire stop. But he didn't. Couldn't. Rodderich still had a life to live for. A beautiful wife, loving son, friends.

And what did _he_ have? Vladimir had been to Hell, come back again because there was no way he could stand the heat, the fire. Soo didn't mind it so much: he'd been born there, he was used to it. The Vampire had never gotten used to it. Never. Just thinking about that, making Rodderich go down there . . .

Vladimir found many more spikes of the oleander swimming in Rodderich's blood.

His head was too far gone.

* * *

><p><strong>Blu: Sad, right? Did I write it good, at least? Damn, I hope I got my Italian right . . . that's all from memory, folks – no translator. (pfft, yeah, I only remember a few words :P such a fail, I know, but hey, I managed ;)) <strong>

**BFTL: And yeah, ginkgos are MY favorite tree. They sprouted in Hiroshima after we (the Americans) bombed it. They have nice fan-shaped leaves, and in the fall all the leaves turn this really bright yellow and they're really pretty! . . . . Srry, moment over.**

**Blue: Did anyone catch the "hit in the back of the head" thing (with Norge)? No?**

**Blu: Cuz ya know, that's the part of your brain that deals with vision . . . **

**Blue: Too bad if you didn't. That was a major hint.**

**Blu: Eh, oh well.**

**Blue: Oh, um, and I don't really like to beg you guys for reviews/love but um . . . WE NEED IT!**


	14. Chapter 13: Fallen Camellia

**Blu: seriously guys, I hate doing that to you guys. The I-give-you-part-of-a-chapter-in-exchange-for-reviews thing . . . . **

**Blue: were we really that scary?**

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 14 – Fallen Camellia<strong>

* * *

><p>Feliciano was becoming more and more intrigued by the pieces of the board. Some were colored – like that one golden Pawn, colored brown with furry ears and a swooping tail. Some were nearly plain, with only a small decoration on the face – the silver Queen simply had flowers in her crown, the Bells of Ireland coiled around the rustiest Bittersweets. Others were altered – like the two silver Rooks; one was split down the middle, creating two separate halves connected only at the base; the second was bound at the mid-section, three lengths of blackened shackles drooping across, encasing the real tower beneath. And a handful were different entirely. A silver, black Raven at rest, its penetrating eyes always staring in the same direction; a silver, white eagle, poised for takeoff, its maw wide open to reveal a snapping tongue; a silver Bishop was perched as a cerulean lion, a paw raised almost defensively. A silver, greenish fist that – as Feliciano watched it – began to open ever so slightly.<p>

Something was clutched in its palm, but the King couldn't see it, couldn't even guess what it was. The green hand reminded him so much of a clam, the owner waiting and waiting patiently for the pearl within, wondering how large it was, what color it turned out to be, if it was smooth or soft.

Silver or white.

Pink or black.

He didn't want to rush the hand into opening, prying its thick, greenish fingers clear of the prize. Feliciano waited, hoping that, when the time came, he would find out what that hand held for him.

As he looked closer at it, Feliciano found that it wasn't really a pure green. More like the mint green found in candies . . .

* * *

><p>The Black Palace felt empty. Almost, nearly hollow. Devoid of its Knight. If Vladimir couldn't do it, then . . . well . . . he couldn't do it. It was just <em>that<em> simple. Horrid – . . . but simple. When the doors finally creaked open, the Palace began to weep. Only the Monarchy was left, patiently awaiting the news sent to rack the spine of the Kingdom.

Vladimir looked up from his blood-soaked hands; his shirt, neck, mouth all drizzled with drying blood. His eyes, epitome, spotted and speckled with crystals and dole. The botanist shook his head.

Never before had the Silver Queen screamed so shrill. Her own hands were quickly covered in ooze and gunk as she ran, falling over her Knight's body. The welts had receded, leaving his visible skin pockmarked with small cuts, faint bruises, and no blood. Skin white as snow, hair black as night, face serene as a dove.

* * *

><p>The doves took too their niches and crevices when the rain began to thunder over the torn grass of the lawn. The Monarchy stood a while longer, watching as the newly-turned earth converted to mud. Ludwig was the first to leave, the Pawns quickly following, then Kiku and Soo. Sebastian made sure his mother was comfortable, hunched over the mound as she was, before he, too, went inside to grieve. The Squire would get no Knighting Ceremony of his own; there was no time for such events. He had a week to pick his own Silver Squire.<p>

And so Elizaveta was left alone in her grief; there, upon the grave of her beloved Knight in shining armor, she cried, the salt of her tears melted together with the dust in the rain.

Vladimir had been pressed with many close questions, and he eventually come to the conclusion that someone had thrown a Nivis oleander into the garbage shoot and, just as it was about to be whisked away to be gone forever, the cook came by and must've mistook the oleander for a spice. He ground it up and sprinkled it onto the dish he was preparing for Feliciano. Rodderich had come into the kitchen and insisted that he try the dish, saying, "Can't be too careful these days." The cook never got a chance to testify to this; he'd been executed immediately.

* * *

><p>Elizaveta came too and noticed something unusual: it was still raining. But rain she could not feel, not the crushing <em>pitter-patter<em> on her brow. Blinking away the remaining water and smearing the mud off her cheek, the Silver Queen noticed the pair of boots across the mound from her. And the figure with the umbrella.

She stared up at Vladimir, standing like a sentry in the battering, bruising rain, umbrella only for her. Arm outstretched, black umbrella in hand. Feet asunder, hand behind his back. Hair and linen shirt plastered to his skin. Elizaveta found herself rising to her feet, walking around the mound. In his arms, shielded by the rain, she found herself torn to shreds. Not another tear graced her face.

"I'm sorry I couldn't do more."

The whisper was slight, the sound nearly obliterated by the rain. But the Queen did hear it. She straightened and, face blushed, jaw quivering, said, "It was not your fault, Vladimir. You did what you could."

_If only you knew_, the botanist wanted to tell her. Instead, he nodded and guided her inside. At her rooms, he kissed her cheek lightly and murmured in her ear. "War does not determine who is right," he said. "Only who is left."

* * *

><p>"Ok, here we go: take two of '<em>Learning to Walk<em>'!"

"I know how to walk, doofus."

Mathias wasn't paying attention. "Don't worry, Lukky, we can_ ace_ this! Just follow the sultry sound of my voice –"

"'Sultry'? Don't you mean 'nauseating'?"

"That's not very nice, Lukky."

"Do you actually think I'm going to move?"

"Aw cummon Lukas, the ground isn't booby-trapped."

"Jens?" Lukas called.

"It's not sir." the Soldier responded.

Lukas growled and crossed his arms, his feet planted firmly on the ground.

Mathias spoke again. "You need to learn to trust people more often, Lukky."

"Why should I?"

"Because it's not healthy to be a loner _all_ the time –"

"How would you know?"

The Knight ignored his previous question. "Who do you trust?"

Lukas's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Your brother. You trust your brother, right?"

"Pfft – of course I d –"

"If your brother were here, trying to help you, you would listen to _him_, right? Right."

"Yeah. So?"

"Ok, I have something to work with here. Let's pretend I'm your brother."

"You're not Emil."

"I said '_imagine_'."

_I'm not very creative, _he thought. Lukas cut Mathias off before the Knight had a chance to begin his rant: "Jens, go get me a stick."

"Yessir." Fading scuffling indicated the Soldier carrying out his orders. A gasp came from the general direction Lukas knew Mathias was in. "What?"

"So you trust _Jens_ enough to go get you a stick, but you don't trust _me_ enough to walk ten feet?" The Knight sounded histrionically hurt.

"Yes."

"Aw, that's mean, Lukky."

Jens returned. "Here you go, sir."

"That was fast." the Pawn said as he held his arm out to the side. A piece of wood was placed in his hand.

As Lukas inspected the stick up and down, making sure it was straight enough, tall enough, didn't have any protrusions that could get stuck on anything, Jens said, "'Convenient' is more like it, sir."

"That it is, Jens." Lukas held the stick out in front of him, one end on the ground, slowly letting the green magic creep out along its length. The green spread in a fifteen foot radius all around the stick's end, opening up a slim line of vision. Jens came into view, not an arm's length away and looking prepared to run off for anything that Lukas could possibly need; Mathias appeared too, ten feet away and looking flabbergasted. Everything was a pale mint sort of color, the kind found in candies.

"Wipe that look of your face, Hairhead."

The Knight straightened, face going blank but eyes filling with confusion. Lukas grinned and started to walk forward with the stick still on the ground, the circle of visible green moving with it; grabbing a lock of hair, Lukas tugged until the Knight was down to his level. "There. I made it. Happy?"

"Sorta. C – can you let go of my hair, Lukky?"

"Why should I?"

"Cuz it kinda hurts."

"So?"

Mathias's face dropped. "Please?"

That's when the bugle sounded. The Knight stiffened, looking behind his shoulder frantically. He turned back to Lukas and grabbed the Pawn's shoulders. "Lukas, I want you to get into a tent."

"What? Why? What's over there?" Lukas stood on his toes and tried to see over Mathias's shoulder, even though he knew it was pointless. Besides the circle of visible green, everything beyond was a blank black plain, devoid of all other shape.

"No time to explain! Just get into a tent – Jens, stay with him and make sure –" the rest of his speech was drowned out as Lukas was shoved this way and that, the circle of green disappeared, making Lukas's world black and velvety once more.

After a few shaky tumbles, fabric hit Lukas in the face. The mad scrabbling behind him indicated Jens hurrying to close the tent flaps. "Seriously Jens, what the hell is going on?" Lukas asked, turning around to face what he presumed was the way he had come.

"Eh, heh, well, erm, um, _slight_ technical difficulties, sir." came the shaky reply.

"How '_slight_'?"

"The Bishop arrived early."

Lukas rolled his eyes. "Cummon, I'm sure he's _not_ as bad as most people would have us believe." he complained, plopping down on the floor of the tent.

Scuffling and Lukas assumed that Jens joined him on the floor. "I dunno, sir." he said. "Most of the Knights in this place can't act very well, so they're either telling the truth about the Bishop's impression or they're masking hidden talents. Which I highly doubt."

Lukas grinned and said in a stupid accent, "'You need to trust people more often' Jens!"

The Pawn heard his second laugh heartily. "Good one, sir."

* * *

><p>"UGH! What's <em>taking<em> them so long?"

"I dunno, sir."

"Check for me, Jens."

Rustling. Hurried rustling.

"Is it bad?"

Jens began in fierce whisper. "SHHH! Sir, the Bishop is walking this way. He's gonna be passing us any second, so just sit quiet for a moment –"

"Hey, I'm not afraid of a brick – cummon Jens." Lukas stood and marched right out of the tent.

"Sir NO –"

Lukas felt like he ran right into a brick wall. _The_ brick wall. Rubbing his forehead, Lukas grabbed the end of his new walking stick and began to poke the bricks. Something grabbed the stick and kept it from moving, locked solidly in place. Tentatively, Lukas let the green grow from his hand, to the stick, to the other hand. Wait –

The other hand was, if anything, _massive_. It could have easily passed for a polar bear's paw. The green showered the owner of the hand, creeping up his arm, shoulder, collar, chest and neck, torso and ears, legs and face. And even though the Bishop was colored in green, Lukas knew his eyes were blue.

Jens stepped from the tent just in time to see Lukas jump back into his second's arms, leaving the stick grasped firmly in the Bishop's hand. Lukas was held there, frozen, by his protective friend as the Bishop regarded them with that petrifying blue gaze. He jerked his head, and two equally terrifying soldiers that arrived with him hauled Jens and Lukas off to the jail.

Safely inside (if they were now covered in a couple new bruises), Lukas grabbed Jens's hand with a vice-like grip and stared with his unseeing eyes.

"What's wrong, sir? What happened?" Jens's voice was quiet; he must be close.

"I – I – he –"

"Take your time, sir, take your time."

"Jens." Lukas gasped, turning his head to look where his Second must be. "I – I heard him."

"Sir –?"

"Inside my head. He talked to me."

Jens must've nodded. "I've heard of him doing that. Something about how he doesn't talk too well in person, face-to-face, or something." Lukas heard Jens whistle and, by the way his hand moved slightly, felt in jerk his arm.

Lukas trembled in the fresh blankets for the rest of the day, night, and well into the next day. It wasn't from the frost setting in, either.

* * *

><p>"Let's not beat around the bush, alright?"<p>

"Fire away."

Ludwig cleared his throat and addressed the five in front of him. "Because of Rodderich's recent death and Feliciano's . . . _boundless_ stupor, the Silver Kingdom is now at its most vulnerable. I need suggestions."

"What do you mean by 'suggestions'?" Elizaveta asked from within the arms of her son, her new Knight.

"We cannot just sit here like meandering geese waiting to be plucked from the sky by the Golden Kingdom." Ludwig told her. "Therefore, we need to act."

"And act we shall." Sebastian added, cradling his mother close. "But how, exactly?"

"An assassin."

The Bishop, Knight, Queen, and Rook all looked to Vladimir. "Say again?"

Vladimir cleared his throat. "An assassin – and a trained one at that – would be the only person with a Nivis oleander. Perhaps the cook was under such employment, but that is besides the point. What I'm trying to say is that –"

"Someone was after Feliciano." Kiku finished.

Vladimir nodded. "Exactly."

Ludwig shifted on the edge of the table he was perched against and said, "So what is it that you suggest we do, Vladimir?"

"Hire one of our own."

The Great Hall was devoid of all noise except that of said trance-like King moving a piece across the board. "You want to . . . hire our _own_ assassin?" Elizaveta asked.

Vladimir nodded. "That is exactly what I want to do."

"But how would be get one without attracting too much attention?" Sebastian asked.

Ludwig nodded. "Sebastian's right: we can't exactly put up an 'Assassins-wanted-report-to-the-Palace' sign."

Vladimir was not fazed. "Leave _that_ to me."

* * *

><p>"Ludwig, many I present Jack Kirkland and his assistant Kaelin Kirkland."<p>

Ludwig looked the small girl in front of him up and down. She held out her hand, her two large curls around her ears bouncing lightly, and said, "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Rook, sir."

Ludwig took her small hand in his and gave it a firm – if uncertain – shake. "Um, pardon me –"

"Call me Kaelin." said the girl, folding her hands behind her small back, very business-like.

"Kaelin, um, where is –"

"Jack is securing the premises."

Ludwig, taken aback, looked to Vladimir; the botanist smirked, the edges of his mouth curling like chocolate shavings. The Rook had no choice but to go with it. Kaelin had moved to a blank table, rolling out some long piece of paper and holding down the edges with her own paperweights. "Mr. Rook –"

"Call me Ludwig, please." the Rook said, moving to join her.

"Ludwig, I need you to procure your signatures on the document."

"What does this say, exactly?" he asked, taking the offered quill and bending over the parchment.

"The basics, really: your name, who we will be assassinating, how much we get paid, when the assassination must be done by – all that jazz."

Ludwig stopped. "So if anyone found this – for discussion's sake let's say the Golden Rook – if he found it he could know all of this information and come after me, correct?"

"If we didn't memorize all the specifics by the desired timeframe, then yes." Kaelin said, unwavering in her sentinel stance.

"Come again?"

"Jack and I make it our business to memorize each contract and all its specifics within a week of the signing. Afterwards, we burn it so no one else may find the information. If someone were to get their hands on this document _before_ that week is up, then yes, they very well _could_ come after you."

Ludwig handed the quill to Vladimir without any hesitation. "I don't wanna take any more chances."

Vladimir accepted the quill with a polite nod and moved to the parchment. "I understand, Ludwig. Don't want any more of the Monarchy going under, now do we?"

As Vladimir scanned and signed the document in various places, he heard Ludwig ask Kaelin, "'Kirkland'?" Kaelin must've nodded because Ludwig continued, "Any way related to –"

"Arthur Kirkland, the Golden Knight, yes. Cousins. I personally have more allegiance with the Golden Monarchy than I would like."

"What do you mean by that?"

"The Bishop is my Uncle Francis. Alfred and Yao and I were friends at one point. Jack has stood up to Ivan multiple times because I thought he was the freakiest thing I'd ever seen."

"Your boss has stood up to Ivan?"

Nod. "Jack is very protective."

Vladimir asked, "Where is the special request section?"

Kaelin turned to him. "You tell that to the two of us directly, Mr. Voltaj."

Vladimir nodded and replaced the quill. "I think I am done with the signing here."

Kaelin nodded, replacing the paperweights in her bag and rolling up the document. "Thank you, Mr. Voltaj. Now, all I need to do is get Jack to get off your chandelier so you may give us your request and then we will be on our way."

Ludwig started and stared up to the ceiling. Indeed, there hung some strange shape twined within the poles and curls of the chandelier. "_JACK_!" Kaelin screamed up at it.

"Blimey, Kae! I _told_ ya Iwi ate moths!"

Kaelin frowned and crossed her arms, brows furrowed. "Jack, what did I tell you about using Iwi for experiments like that?"

The figure, who must've been Jack, laughed heartily and stuffed the brown blob he was holding in a pack at his side, beginning to climb back up the chains of the chandelier. He jumped, grabbing hold of a marble pillar, and slid all the way down to the floor. Twenty feet above the tiles, he stopped and grinned wide as his fuming assistant. Man, that guy looked like a koala like that. Aforementioned brown blob nosed its long beak out of the pack and jabbed hard at Jack's hand. Jack lost his grip on the pillar and fell the rest of the way down to the floor.

Kaelin was by his side in a moment, snatching up the brown blob. The blob chirped at her excitedly as she scolded Jack, "Serves you right! Now go find Aussie and make sure he isn't eating the drapes like last time!"

"Aussie was hungry, Kae, and you knew that –" Jack defended, getting up and rubbing his bottom.

"I don't care. The repair money was deducted from our pay and I don't want it to happen again. Go find him."

Jack grumbled and ruffled her hair as he walked past. She combed it back into place with her hand and turned back to Ludwig and Vladimir. "Mr. Voltaj, if you would so kindly describe to us your special request and escort us back to our carriage, we will gladly be out of your hair."

"Yes, ma'am." Vladimir held the Great Hall door open for her as she gathered her pack, set the bird (that's what the blob looked like, anyway) atop her head, and walked out. Vladimir followed and when the doors boomed shut behind him, Ludwig was left all alone to wonder what the hell it was that the botanist had written on the document. How fluid he seemed when he accepted the quill, as if the entire thing were staged . . . .

Who did he want gone?

* * *

><p><strong>Blu: btw, Aussie is the koala. I really didn't know what else I should call it . . . <strong>

**Blue: anyway, good guys?**

**Blu: very happy I was able to find a way of getting out of Berwald-talk ("m'wife") cuz, you know, I SUCK AT IT! ;) and i'm surprized this chapter didn't turn out longer . . . . eh, oh well.**


	15. Chapter 14: Hyssop and Blue Lotus

**Blu: HAIL YES! 32 PAGES, BITCHES! TAKE THAT!**

**Blue: *facepalm* have fun reading, people. and um, Blu? a note for next time: DON'T combine two chapters**

**Blu: but - but - BUT CHAPTER 15 BY ITSELF WAS TOO SHORT!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 15 – Hyssop and Blue <strong>**Lotus**; Defense/Foresight & Admiration/Solitude, Not

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><p>This time, Peter noted, Yao was the one knocking over tables and trampling in the ruined pieces. At least he could get Leon and Feliks to help clean up like last time.<p>

"Yao, please don't get so angry – it doesn't help the situa –"

"Quiet, Francis!" the Queen snapped. The Bishop held up his hands in restless defense and the Queen went back to her furious pacing.

Francis sighed heavily and scratched his forehead. Arthur picked up, "I think what Francis is trying to ask you, Yao, is 'Would you please calm down and tell us why you're so agitated?'"

Yao turned to his Knight and asked with a gaze of golden ice, "You wanna know _why_ I'm so agitated, do you Arthur? You have the audacity to ask why I'm so angry when it's so _plainly obvious_?" This last part, he screamed into Alfred's ear. But the Golden King was so absorbed in his one-man game of chess that he didn't bother to answer, even acknowledge that his Queen was there in the first place let alone screaming at him.

Peter really had to wonder how Alfred did it. One moment the King would be sitting there at the table, staring at the battered chess set with such intensity that Peter thought he might be trying to set it on fire with his stare. You'd see it flash across his eyes: he was thinking about which piece to move next. Maybe, if they watched long enough, he would reach for a piece, move it, and then sit patiently again. Which is all he ever seemed to be doing because whenever anyone ever looked back to him, a black piece would have moved and the King was thinking again. There was never any sound, any rustle of cloth, or wood scratching wood to indicate that Alfred had moved the black piece himself. All of this left the Golden Squire to wonder: _how did the King do it_?

Peter was wondering about it for so long at he'd missed most of Yao's rant. He snapped back to the real world just when Yao was finishing: "He doesn't even give so much as another thought to the war – _all he cares about is playing his stupid game_!"

* * *

><p>"What're you doing?"<p>

"Packing." Vladimir did not look up from his task at his demonic assistant leaning in the doorframe.

"Why?"

"Because we won't be staying here much longer."

"Why?"

"Certain things have happened."

"Rodderich?"

"He's part of the reason."

"What're the other reasons?"

"You'll understand when we get there."

Vladimir had closed the locks on his suitcase now and was about to walk out through the door – but Soo wouldn't budge. "Boss."

"Yes?" Vladimir asked innocently, brows raised, lids drooping.

They stared at each other for a few seconds before Soo threw his hands into the air with a frantic "Ugh!" He said, pacing about the front room, "This only adds to the problems!"

"You mean to say it only adds to your confusion." It was not a question. Vladimir set the suitcase down on the couch and peeked out the door, closing it when he was satisfied that no one was around to hear them talk.

"Boss we should've gotten him when Al sent us that oleander." Soo persisted. "That way, there'd be no dead Knight, we could've saved everyone the heartache, there'd be no danger of anyone else eating the oleander because it would've been all used up already –"

"You still don't get it, do you Soo?" Vladimir had a sympathetic shade drawn over his raging red eyes.

Soo rolled his head like a marble. "_No_, apparently _I don't. _And I don't think I'll ever get it – unless _someone_" he looked frankly at Vladimir "explains it to me!"

"Don't get snappy with me, Soo." Vladimir warned casually.

"Then tell me _what the hell is going on_? Why did we wait so long to kill somebody?"

"It was like I told you earlier, Soo." Vladimir rubbed his eyes. You could tell he was holding onto the very last tendrils of whatever remained of his patience. "If we had killed Feliciano, there would be a short period of mourning and then they would charge back to the Golden City and – it would just be a big massacre. There'd be a dead_ King_ in that courtyard, Soo."

Soo was short for words. He thought for a moment before asking sympathetically, "When did you . . . make the switch?"

The vampire fingered the stone around his neck. "When I threw away that goddamn oleander." The pain in Vladimir's voice was evident but even more so in his eyes, a pale pink. He refused to meet his assistant's yellow gaze.

* * *

><p>Neither of the assassins heard Sebastian's gasp.<p>

* * *

><p>"I didn't mean for any of this to happen. I didn't mean for Rodderich to die . . ." Vladimir sat on the couch, his head in his gloved hands.<p>

"I understand, sir." Soo's voice drifted across the room from his position at the counter.

"Why was I so _careless_ with it?" Vlad's grip on his hair tightened.

The demon sighed, setting down a tray of tea and handing his boss a cup. "What's done is done, and there's no way we can fix it. So what's your plan to make up for it, eh?" Vladimir looked up. "I know you have one; that's why Adam and Kae came knocking on our door yesterday asking for the darts."

There was a faint pause as the vampire took this in. "Were you at least _polite_?" Vlad asked, a faint, barely-noticeable, fanged smirk gracing his face.

"I'm horrible with manners, Boss, you know that."

Vlad's grin widened. "Cuz we both know they don't teach em down there!" They shared a hearty laugh, and Vladimir took the cup, allowing his assistant to sit down. "Did you give them the darts?"

"I asked why they needed em and they said that you said you'd tell me. So," Soo leaned in closer, "I'm all ears."

* * *

><p>Sebastian heard no more as he ran as far away from the door as possible. He had to find his mother. She would definitely know what to do.<p>

Elizaveta was where she always was at this time of day: laying fresh camellias on Rodderich's grave. As Sebastian approached, she said, "Camellias always were his favorite."

"Mom, I have to talk to you."

It seemed that Elizaveta didn't hear her son. "They're supposed to represent admiration and perfection, and they're a good luck gift to a man –"

"It's urgent."

Elizaveta turned to her son, her Knight, with a slightly perplexed expression. "What is it, Sebastian?"

"It's about Vladimir – Mom I think he came here to –"

"Not now, Sebastian."

"But – M_ooo_m!"

She lightly brushed his shoulder and nodded not to him but to something behind him. The Knight turned, laying eyes on that botanist.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything." Vladimir started.

It was all Sebastian could do to not openly glare. It was clearer to the Knight now, that telltale graying of Vladimir's skin, that peculiar flash in his bright amber-red eyes. How long had he been standing there?

"Of course not, Vladimir. Sebastian was just telling me how beautiful the camellias were." Elizaveta covered with a charming smile.

"I was just leaving." Sebastian added, turning to peck his mother on the cheek before striding away.

Vladimir took a step closer and said, "You had requested to see me, Your Majesty?"

"Yes Vladimir, I did." Elizaveta picked up her basket and clippers. "I would like your help in the garden, this afternoon."

Sebastian watched from the shadows of the arch as the botanist offered his arm. The Queen gratefully accepted and the pair walked into the gardens. The Knight meandered up to the grave and looked down at the tombstone. "He killed you." he whispered. "It was his fault – he didn't take the blame. _Why_?" He fell to his knees, thinking for a moment before picking up one of the camellias and sniffing it. Its sweet scent filled his nose, clouding his mind. "If you knew . . ." he said to the tombstone.

That song came floating back to him, the song that, as a child, he'd never understood. Now it all made sense . . . the folk song about the son and how much he missed his father . . . "He was more than just my father," Sebastian muttered, twirling the camellia slowly between his fingers. "My teacher, my best friend . . . Though he may be gone, memories linger on . . ." The rest of the song played over and over in his head. Sebastian's eyes began to cloud, and he gently put his head in his hand, weeping gingerly, the camellia folding to shattered pieces between his eyes and his palm. _And suddenly, when it happened . . . There was so much left unsaid . . . No second chance . . . To tell him thanks . . . For everything he'd done . . . I never will forget him . . . For he made me what I am . . . Though he may be gone . . . Memories linger on . . . God, I miss him, the old man . . . ._

* * *

><p>Feliciano noticed the little bat, his opponent's pawn, that little bat with a hyssop clutched in his mouth. And the one right next to him, the blue lotus in full bloom. Both were a solid ash gray.<p>

The Silver King could hardly believe it. Someone, somewhere, must be changing sides . . .

* * *

><p>"Yao, Yao, calm down, da?" The Rook stepped forward and wrapped an arm around the Queen, pulling him close.<p>

Yao shoved his way out of the Rooks arms and screamed, "_I want an attack_!"

The Monarchy stood speechless for a moment. "Um . . . what?" Francis dared to ask.

"_You_ heard me!" Yao snapped, the grip on his fan tightening and tightening like a snake's jaws. The Queen looked at his astounded Monarchy and bellowed, "If I'm the only one who wants to win this war, then so be it – _I'll lead the attack myself_!"

* * *

><p>"Ludwig!"<p>

The Rook looked up from the map. He removed his glasses and asked, "What is it, Sebastian?"

"Yao." The Knight was winded, as if he had been running a long time. "Two days."

* * *

><p>"Where do you get this stuff?" Ludwig asked aghast as the Monarchy (minus Elizaveta; no one wanted to disturb her grieving) filed into the Great Hall.<p>

"Secret sources." the Knight replied as he thankfully downed an offered glass of water.

"Two days, two days . . ." Ludwig said to himself, beginning to pace as the Monarchy filed into their seats around the table. "What can we do in two days . . . ?"

"Prepare for battle?" Lars suggested.

Ludwig shook his head. "No good. I want as many lives sparred as possible." He looked to Emil. "What do you think Lukas would do, Emil?"

The Pawn thought for a moment. "Stand his ground and fight."

"That's what I thought." Ludwig started his pacing again; he stopped, eyes falling on Feliciano. The Rook knelt by the table, folding his arms on the lip and watching the unmoving game intently. "What would Feli do?"

No one wanted to say it.

"What would Rodderich do?"

The same.

Ludwig straightened, eyes lingering down on the board. "I think it's time to take Máximo up on his offer."

Lovino chuckled. "Well," he began, "that's all fine and dandy, but what're we gonna do, just get up and leave?"

"We'll take the citizens through the tunnels." Ludwig offered easily.

"Uh, excuse me – I'm not talking about the population." Lovino raised a hand and pointed with an accusing finger. "What the hell are we gonna do with _hiiim_? We can't just leave him here."

"Well perhaps you would like to stay behind and guard your younger brother." Ludwig suggested, voice edgy.

Lovino straightened and said, "Hell no – I'll be chopped to pieces when those Golden bastards come storming through here –"

"Feliciano would sacrifice himself for his kingdom." Kiku said.

"Oh great – and maybe that aura that kept us all from disturbing him will keep him safe against that bitch and his shiny weapons!" Lovino retorted.

"I'll stay."

The Monarchy turned. "Vladimir?"

The botanist nodded. Sebastian almost wanted to scream; had Vladimir known about this all along? Planned it with the Queen somehow – maybe. It all seemed incredibly impossible, but . . .

"You knew this?" Sebastian found himself asking. He knew in his gut that something was up.

Vladimir nodded. "I had not intended to stay in your company any longer."

"But why?"

Vladimir sighed quietly. "I have some unfinished business with an old friend of mine – something that must be dealt with as soon as possible."

"So why do you offer to stay here?"

"In the long scheme of things, I think it will help me and my guilt over Rodderich's death."

Kiku began, "You did all you could, Vladimir, there is no need to feel –"

"I feel like I owe it to him, Kiku." Sebastian hinted the smidge of regret in his voice, as if the botanist wanted to wipe his plate clean – but couldn't. The Knight was tempted to get him to do it. Vladimir must've noted the look on Sebastian's face because he said, "Something on your mind, Sebastian?"

The Knight thought for a second before seizing his chance. "Yes, actually. There is."

"Then speak freely." Ludwig said, gesturing with a twist of his wrist.

"How do we know you won't try anything?"

". . . I am afraid I don't quite understand, Sebastian." Vladimir said, folding his hands behind his back.

"How do we know that you won't try to hurt Feliciano?"

The Monarchy tensed. Sebastian looked at them, daring any to challenge his suspicions.

"You don't trust me, do you Sebastian?" Vladimir asked quietly.

* * *

><p>"So are <em>these<em> your 'secret source'?"

Sebastian jumped, turning around in a flash and cuddling the dove close to his chest. Vladimir stood there, admiring the shelves and shelves in which the hundreds of doves sat, staring down at him with their piercing black and red eyes, cocking their heads this way and that, trying to find the best possible angle to study this newcomer. Vladimir looked back at them just the same way, a curl to his lips. He enjoyed teasing them. "I always wondered why they flocked up here." he said.

"Um . . . they're part of it." the Knight said, a little unsure of himself.

Vladimir nodded and reached up a politely inquisitive finger. A dove examined it thoroughly, looking at it from every angle possible and even pecking it a few times before the bird held still enough for the botanist to stroke it's spine a few times. The dove began to chortle its coo and several of the other pigeons began to be very interested in this strange-new-man-who-pet-birds.

"Um . . . w – why are you up here?" Sebastian asked.

"Oh, I'm sorry, is this tower sacred?" Vladimir asked. It was hard – very hard – to detect the sarcasm in his voice. For a moment, Sebastian almost believed Vlad was being sincere.

"Don't answer my question with a question."

"Alright then."

. . .

"So are you going to answer?"

"What?"

"My question."

"What question?"

"Why are you up here?"

"Oh . . . . what about it?"

Sebastian face-palmed; but when he looked up, Vladimir was smiling. "I'm just teasing." he said. He sat in the window and looked out over the Black City. "I thought the view would be _stupendous_."

Sebastian's shoulders dropped: he gave up. He brushed the molted feathers off a bench and sat on it, stroking the dove in his hands softly.

"I wanted to look at the City one last time before everything turned to chaos," Vladimir continued, "but now I see that I was a bit too late."

"What?" Sebastian looked up and moved to the second window next to the one Vladimir sat in. The City bellow was bustling – like usual. "What do you mean?"

"Ludwig's already given the order; they're all preparing for the exodus."

Sebastian looked closer and indeed there was a difference: people were bustling around, saying things to loved ones, deciding what they could absolutely not leave behind, at least for the Golden Troops to find once they came. "Oh."

"I wish I could tell them all what I plan to do to the City once you've all left, but I think that wouldn't be good for them."

Sebastian started. "_What_?"

"Oh, it's nothing bad – _technically_ I won't really do a thing." Vladimir reassured the Knight, riffling around in his pockets for something. He pulled two small vials from somewhere in that mesh of pockets on his coat and held out the first. "Do you know what this is, Sebastian?"

The Knight looked at the vial wearily. "Do I _want_ to?"

Vladimir smiled a friendly smile. "You couldn't know it – I just made it, about an hour ago. Watch." He took the cork out of the neck, and sprinkled a bit in a patch on the ground. The botanist took a feather from the ground beneath him and gently let it flutter down onto the mixture. Upon touching the ground, the feather went up in flames with a small puff and crumbled to ashes within mere seconds. The doves were certainly interested. "Effective, right?"

Sebastian knelt down to look at it closely. "What does it do –?"

"Say I didn't want anyone to get to this pigeon." Vladimir gestured to the dove in the Knight's hands.

"She's a dove." he corrected, then added, a bit bashfully, "Her name is Tuff."

"Say I didn't want anyone to get to Tuff here." Vladimir went on. "I could put her in a cage and sprinkle this around it. If anyone tried to reach to get her, they'd be caught up in flames."

"So it just lights things on fire?"

"Kinda. It recognizes what I'm beginning to call a 'safe guy.' The safe guy could be anyone that I wanted it to be – me, you, the Monarchy, the Black City citizens, et cetera. The safe guy would not catch on fire; the mixture does just that: light all other unspecified personnel on fire."

"So . . . whatsit for? How would you use it?"

Vladimir smiled and held up the vile. "If I can make enough of this in the next couple of hours, Soo and I can sprinkle it all around the outer wall of the City, about a mile radius."

"Meaning . . . ?"

"You won't really _need_ to worry about the Golden Troops coming in to destroy your City because if they try to get any closer than a mile, they'll all burst into flames."

"That's –" Sebastian stopped and thought about it for a second "– genius. What else have you got in those pockets?"

Vladimir pocketed that vial and held up the next. "Anti-aging powder."

"And what does this one do?" Sebastian asked, suddenly intrigued.

"If I can make enough of this in the next few hours as well and sprinkle it all over the City after all of you guys have left, then the City will look exactly the same when you eventually decide to return. It keeps things safe from practically every element out there: sunlight, heat, sleet, hail, a blizzard, rain, wind, giant rocks falling from the sky, lightning, and the best part – it's flameproof."

Sebastian gently sat and crossed his legs, staring at the spot on the ground with the powder still sprinkled over it. "I can't help but feel like you're trying to sell me something." he said quietly, softly, still stroking Tuff, who cooed curiously from time to time.

"If you look at it that way, I kind of am." Vladimir sat as well and leaned back on his palms.

"Why?"

"Cuz I want you to trust me."

Sebastian sighed and shook his head. "What is this 'business' you have to deal with so suddenly?"

"Trying to change the subject, are we? Alright, I get it." Vladimir said humorously.

"I'm serious."

"So am I." he said. "Fine, you really wanna know?" Sebastian nodded. "I'll answer your question if you answer one of mine."

"Ok."

"What were you trying to tell your mother yesterday?"

Sebastian could not answer.

"Cummon, be honest. I need to know."

"I can't tell you." Sebastian insisted, shaking his head; he almost looked embarrassed.

"Was it about me and Soo trying to kill Feliciano?"

The Knight looked at the botanist immediately.

"Cuz you're half right."

Sebastian immediately jumped to his feet; Vladimir stayed where he was.

"That's why we were sent here in the first place. Feliciano's grandfather had nothing to do with it – didn't even know he _had_ one until that point when I made it up." Vladimir looked to the side onto the ground, clutching his knees and rocking back and forth once.

"So – . . . you're _assassins_?"

"Good to know you can piece two and two together."

"Then why did you make yourselves known?"

Vladimir thought to himself. "Well, we didn't at first."

"What do you mean?"

"I was literally about to kill Feliciano when your mother walked in on us – she didn't see us, of course."

"My – . . . you came here to us because of my _mother_?"

"If you'll stop interrupting and sit down, I'll tell you." Sebastian took this news warily, but eventually crossed his legs and settled down on the floor again. "Most gorgeous woman in the world – very beautiful. She still is, really. I didn't know she was married and when I found out that she was, it still didn't matter. Your father was just a minor setback in my plan. I convinced Soo to stop being so uptight about the job we were hired to do – told him to relax, that we'd have a bit of fun with this one." Vladimir stopped. "And then he sent us that oleander."

"Who were you hired by?"

Vladimir gulped. "Alfred."

"King Alfred hired you to take out my father _and_ Feliciano?"

The botanist shook his head, holding up his hands. "No, we were sent to just get Feli. Just hear me out for a moment." Sebastian settled down again and Vlad continued, "Your mother didn't think my showing up was just coincidence, either. She confronted me about it and later snuck into my rooms to try and find something she could use against me."

"Did she?"

"Um, well, not really. She found a case of antique weapons I had hidden, but those are _really _supposed to be just for show; they're so old that some of them crumbled into this pile of rust after that – too much oxygen exposure, you know? She didn't think so, and ended up accidentally cutting herself with a knife that was in there." He stopped, eyes looking into some distant, faraway place. "I can't stand blood . . ."

"What do you mean – I've seen you deal with lots of blood."

"No, you don't understand – I . . . I – I just can't. It's a topic for another time. But anyway, I think I scared her half to death when I stuck her arm in that healing syrup and hissed in her ear multiple times."

The Knight stopped. "Hissed?"

Vladimir didn't hear him. "The next day, Soo came back from a late night out on the town with a package, this big, black box." He gestured to show how big it was. "Alfred – the _idiot_ – he had his gold seal on the top and the note with the box basically said 'Use this for Feli.' After close inspection of the box, Soo and I found the Nivis oleander inside. It's an extremely rare mutation of a regular oleander that, over the generations, has become so differentiated in the gene pool from its original ancestors that it's finally turned into an entirely new species. It grows only in the highest mountains in the most desolate places – just a whiff of smoke from a ten-mile-away fire will kill the entire plant. Alive, the plant is no threat whatsoever. But if you kill it and dry out its leaves, it becomes the deadliest poison in the world – every assassin covets and steals and bribes to try and get one in his collection.

"A while ago, I was thinking about it, and finally just went into the dreaded cupboard where we'd put it and threw the thing away. Well, it must've hit a lot of junk on its way down because when the cook finally found it in the garbage shoot, the thing had turned a dull greenish-brown. It was an honest mistake, really – he just thought it was a spice that the kitchen boy had thrown out. He sprinkled it over the dish he was preparing to get to Feliciano and your father just _happened_ to insist that he try it first."

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. "There's no known cure for it. And once I'm done with my business with Alfred, I'm going to go find one."

"But why did you look so bloody when you came out of the infirmary?" Sebastian asked, voice hollow. "You looked like you'd actually tried to save him. Why did you try if you knew you couldn't help him, if you can't stand the blood?"

Vladimir chewed on the inside of his lip, unhinging his jaw and moving it around a bit. "Do you have an injured dove?"

"I have a few, why?"

"Can I have one? A _really_ injured one?"

Sebastian stood and Vladimir followed as the Knight walked around a row of slots to another row. He walked right up to an empty one, placed Tuff in it gently, and picked up the one in the slot below. "This is Tam."

Vladimir held the bird for a moment, examining his wing. "His wing is too badly damaged; he'll never be able to fly again."

Sebastian nodded, looking down and scuffing his boot on the stones. "I know. I've tried too much to fix it, but I think I only made it worse every time I tried to work on it."

The Knight looked up just in time to see Vladimir grab Tam's head and twist it harshly. The bird went limp. "Wha – wha – _why'd you kill him_?" Sebastian screamed as the botanist moved aside some of the feathers on the dead bird's neck. But the Knight noticed something peculiar about Vladimir – he'd . . . changed, somehow. His eyes were brighter, redder; skin clearly ashy and grayed; but his teeth . . .

Sebastian took a few steps back, clutching the slots for balance, when the botanist bit into Tam's neck, he blood welling up around those two prominent fangs. Vladimir licked his teeth when he was done, holding out the dead bird by its wing. Tam was sucked dry of all the blood his little body held.

"Y – you – you – you're a – a –"

Vladimir nodded. "I tried to suck out all poison, but by the time I figured out I could and began, the oleander had damaged his body too much." He placed the dead bird back into his slot, and Tuff looked at the thing-that-looked-like-but-didn't-act-like-a-dove, cocking her head closer and closer.

"You – you wanted to turn my mother into a –"

Vladimir nodded again, not turning or taking his eyes off Tam. "I did. But now I have no need for it. I see how happy you all are here, and figured out how selfish it would be of me to take that away from you." He looked directly at Sebastian and folded his arms behind his back. "I am sorry if you actually _did_ trust me for a moment, but now all I can ask is that you learn to put a little trust in your enemies. They will do what they say they will, if you give them enough time."

And Vladimir turned and left the Knight alone in his coup. Sebastian looked back to Tam and stared at him for a while before he yelled. Startled, the birds began to flock from their perches, their slots. The Knight began swinging his arms like the blades of a windmill, directing the birds to the many windows. Out the bird's flew, flocking, stirring the air about the tower in a wild frenzy. Sebastian stood in the window, looking at his majestic birds, his little doves, his own sweethearts, as they flew and flew.

Gingerly picked up the dead Tam and went down to the gardens to bury him.

* * *

><p>"Sebastian!"<p>

The Knight turned to see Genevieve running towards him. "Oh, hello, Genevieve." he said, voice still the teensiest bit hollow. "Do you need something?"

The girl stopped in front of him and panted. "Are we really going to leave?" she sounded almost desperate.

Sebastian nodded. "We're going to go take refuge with the Platinum Kingdom."

Genevieve thought for a moment. "And – I," she began a bit hesitantly, "I'm . . . _allowed_ to come with you, aren't I?"

"Of course you are, Gene."

Now she looked physically relieved. She noticed Tam in his hands and she looked sad for a moment. "What's that?"

"Oh, um, it's one of our doves. He was dead when I found him today." he said as he smoothed out the feathers over the spot where the puncture wound was – he hoped she hadn't seen it. Liar.

"Aw, how sad. Were you going to bury him?"

Sebastian nodded. "Near the gray pine – that was his favorite tree."

He looked up to see her smile. "That's really sweet. Um, do you mind if I join you?"

Sebastian shook his head and motioned with his head. "The pine's this way."

She smiled lightly and followed as he led her through the garden paths to the foot of the towering tree. "It's a shame, really," she said as he bent down, placing Tam on a root and taking out the spade he'd put in his belt.

"What is?" he asked as he began to dig.

She moved to one of the azalea bushes and said as she plucked flowers, "That we're going to have to leave behind all these beautiful plants."

Sebastian had thought he'd had enough talk of plants in his lifetime already, but he said, "Yeah, shame." He laid Tam in the hole and began to gently cover him with handfuls of the moist soil. After packing him down, Gene came back and softly arranged the azaleas over the tiny mound. They had a moment of silence for Tam's passing before they both went back into the Palace to ready their things.

* * *

><p>Early morning on the second day, Vladimir found Elizaveta by the grave again. She was sitting at the foot of the mound, mumbling something quietly to herself, speaking things that would never reach Rodderich's ears.<p>

"Elizaveta!" Vladimir called.

She turned her head and a smile formed on her pale lips. Standing, Elizaveta brushed out her skirts and said, "Hello Vladimir."

"You should be getting ready, Your Majesty." he said, stopping in front of her. "The citizens are expecting you."

"Oh, I – I know." she said, wringing the corner of her veil in her thinned hands. "I was just having one last goodbye." Elizaveta cast a glance over her shoulder, but when she caught sight of the tombstone with her husband's name on it, she snapped. The Queen fell to her knees and sobbed into her hands; he could easily see the un-cried tears escaping down her cheeks through the black veil.

Vladimir knelt beside her and scooped her up into his arms, letting her cry into his red coat. After a few moments, he told her, "You can't let the City see you like this, Your Majesty. You have to be strong – for their sake." _For mine._ he wished he could add.

She sniffled, drawing away for a quick moment to wipe the salt from her face. "How do you do it, Vladimir?" the Queen asked, not looking at him.

"What, Your Majesty?"

"Be that citadel for people. You're always there to get people on their feet." she was choosing her words carefully.

Vladimir sighed and thought, _Might as well give her the truth._ "I don't want people to waste so much as a day of their lives."

"But why? Why do you care?"

"Reasons I cannot explain as of now." Vladimir helped the Queen to her feet and said as she straightened out, pulling the veil from her eyes and over her hair, "Now, I want you to go to you rooms and change into something a little more travel-suited – some breeches perhaps?"

She giggled a bit and nodded, brushing past him. The Queen was just about to pass into the hall when she turned, looking at Vladimir, standing in the exact same position he had been in not ten seconds ago. No move to come with her. Elizaveta straightened, the smile sapping from her face. She was in front of him in a second, about a yard away, staring into his eyes as the reality struck her. "You – . . . you're not coming with us, are you Vladimir?" she said softly.

He shook his head.

She rebutted, voice drained of all its previous power, "Why not?"

"I have some unfinished business to take care of, Your Highness." he said gently, gingerly, pretending to chose his words carefully in case she noticed. "I also think it would be for the better well-being of the Monarchy and the residents of both the Platinum and Black Cities if I do not go with you."

Elizaveta blinked. Vladimir held his breath. He couldn't have guessed what she was going to say next. "What about _my_ well-being?"

Vladimir shook his head, looking down slightly at the grass. "You are a strong woman, Your Highness. You do not need me to keep you on your feet."

Elizaveta's back arched. "What business and with whom?" she demanded.

He shook his head. "It is better for us both if you do not know." The botanist moved to turn around, about to head away, when he felt her sharp-nailed grip on his arm. He sighed and said without turning, lowering his head, "Can you promise me something, Elizaveta?"

"If it is within my power, I can certainly try." came her reply.

"Whenever Sebastian tries to tell you something, listen to him – don't ever doubt, for a single moment, that what he says is not true, no matter what your personal feelings are on the matter."

There was a slight pause.

"That kid of yours is smart, Elizaveta."

". . . I know."

"I know he's not really yours, but whoever taught him to think the way he does sure is the better parent."

He could feel Elizaveta straighten. "Is this about what he was trying to tell me two days ago?" She crossed to stand in front of him, but he still did not meet the Queen's eyes. "It was regarding you, I knew that much. What did he want to tell me?"

"It would be better if you asked him that yourself –" He tried to walk past her again, but the Queen stopped the botanist with a hand on his chest.

"Vladimir." Elizaveta said, voice icy. He wasn't getting out of this one so easily.

"Do you know why I came here, Your Highness?"

"You were sent by Romulus." she said, underlying tone in her voice betraying her confusion.

"And what about Piero? He went with Romulus when he left; he's been with their grandfather for the past however-many years. Did he testify to this that it was true?" When Elizaveta didn't answer, Vladimir continued, "Did anyone bother to_ ask_?"

The reply was late. "We trusted your word."

The botanist sighed, nodded. "Exactly." He knew he was expected to continue. "Did you recognize any of the herbs in my cabinets when you were searching our room?"

She stiffened.

"Or note the small flap in the back of the case you found that, when you peeled away the top layer of antiques, revealed knives and darts and stars?"

Now, he was getting somewhere. "I wasn't sent by Romulus. I didn't even know he was still alive until Feliciano confirmed it."

"Then why did you come?" she voice was deadly.

"My superior wanted someone . . . taken out."

"Who sent you?"

"King Alfred."

Her eyes grew wide, he could see from the corner of his eye. "He wanted Feliciano?"

Vladimir nodded.

"Then – do you work for him?" she sounded furious, confused.

The botanist shook his head. "Not really. I'm going to go to the Golden Palace and throw his precious gold back in his face."

"So . . . he _hired _you?" When Vladimir nodded again, peering at her out of the corner of his amber eyes, Elizaveta immediately let go of his arm like she were touching hot coals. "Then you're – you're a –"

"An assassin, yes." Vladimir said nonchalantly, buttoning the right cuff of his red jacket, one that matched perfectly the green one he'd worn when they arrived. "Soo and I."

"So . . ." Elizaveta tried thinking like her son, for once. "What's with Rodderich? You went after him when you couldn't have Feli?" She was bitter now.

"Rodderich died on accident, Elizaveta. I never intended for him to die –"

But the Silver Queen was hardly listening any more. "You killed him."

"I didn't mean to, Elizaveta – I swear –"

"_It's your fault Rodderich is dead_!"

She shoved him with both hands, pushing him back and shoving him again and again, screaming horrible things at him. When he was up against the nearest pillar, Elizaveta dug her nails into his coat and held him at arms' length, her head falling between her thinned shoulders. The first of the tears that hit the pale, dirty white tiles sounded as loud as a cannon to the man. Vladimir wanted nothing more than to reach out to her, hold her close and tell her that it would be alright.

But, of course, he couldn't do that now could he? Nope. _He_ was the enemy. A strong one, at that.

"Yes, it is." he agreed softly, letting his shoulders fall. She looked up, cheeks stained, eyes reddened.

"Mom."

Elizaveta didn't look at her son as he approached her from behind. "Mom, it's time to go."

The Queen couldn't seem it get the blood flowing through her fingers again. They just stood there, rooted in his coat just like the roots of some ancient strangling fig. He gently, with fingers like frozen paper, unhooked each of her fingers and offered her hands back to her, softly rubbing the backs. Elizaveta's grip on his hands was viselike. He leaned in closer to her and whispered softly, "It's time to go, Elizaveta."

She shook her head furiously. If Vladimir didn't care so much, he would've been thinking, _Damn, this woman needs to make up her mind already!_ "I don't want to go –" she protested, lips trembling like leaves. "I – I wanna stay with you – if you can stay, I can stay too –"

"You can't stay here with me, Elizaveta." Vladimir told her patiently as their foreheads met. "You won't want to – it wouldn't be good for you –"

"You keep telling me that!" she snapped in a quiet kind of angry – perhaps 'frustrated' was the better word. "Give me a good reason why I can't!" Vladimir really didn't want to do this to the Queen. But she wasn't giving him any other options.

Elizaveta saw the sun shine in his eyes for a moment, but when she looked back at them – no – no they couldn't be _red_. The longer she stared into them, the more the denial seeped from her veins. His skin turned to a deathly ash color as she stared at them, feeling colder than the thickest ice. But when he spoke, she couldn't help the horror contorting her face when she laid her eyes on those _fangs_. "_Don't stay_." he hissed.

Sebastian pulled his mother away from the vampire, an arm around her belly, her arms paralyzed. All down the black hall, she couldn't tear her eyes from his; even when the vampire morphed from demon to bat and flew back down the hall, she watched him as he went. When she was safely deposited in her room to change, there was a voice that rang out.

"I wasn't your conscience."

* * *

><p>"Your Majesty?"<p>

Elizaveta flashed around to see Soo striding towards her. She turned to face him and he placed a crown of red and violet hyssops on her head. "They ward off evil." he explained, adjusting it.

"Why don't they work on you, then?" she asked.

He chuckled, folding his hands behind his back. "I'm used to them. I quite like flowers, I must admit. One of the luxuries were can't afford down there."

She nodded, reaching up to touch the petals gingerly. "Do you think I'll need them?"

He sighed. "You never know what's inhabited four underground passages that haven't been used in centuries." Elizaveta sensed the sarcasm in his voice.

"What do you think is down there?"

He shrugged. "Nothing as bad as me'n'boss, I can assure you that much."

"So what're you?"

"Come again, Your Majesty?" he said, stopping.

"Vlad's a vampire. What're you?"

He and his curl grinned his sharp-toothed smile, horns tapering through his hair, spaded tail swaggering.

She sighed. "I kind of expected as much."

Now his grin was sincere, if still sarcastic. "Hey, if you can survive a demon and a vampire right under your nose in your castle for two months, I'm pretty sure you can whoop the ass of anything that's down there."

Elizaveta had no choice but to laugh.

"Are you leading or tailing?" he asked.

That was the plan. At the bottom of the east side of the Palace hill there were four tombs, those first four Kings to reign over the Black Palace. At the back of each of the tombs was a passage leading towards the west. All the tunnels were deep underground and went on for miles, finally opening up again leagues west of the Black City. One member of the Monarchy was going to lead each of the tunnels, another tail.

"I'm leading the first." she said.

"Well, whoever gets stuck with you an Emil are surely the safest." Soo joked.

"And why Emil?"

The demon shrugged. "He came by to talk once; and he wasn't afraid of me in the least, even when I tried to make it plainly obvious that I was trying to freak him out. He'll keep his tunnel calm no matter what happens."

"I think Emil is tailing the third."

"Who's tailing you?"

"A few guards."

"But I thought you had eight enough to do it?"

She nodded. "Piero and Lovino are both tailing the fourth. No one trusted them enough to do it alone."

"Huh." Soo motioned over her shoulder with his head. "Let's just hope Piero can pull off the Feliciano act."

Elizaveta turned. Since the cousin and the King looked so much alike, they'd dressed him up in Feliciano's armor and were now parading him around as the real King. No one wanted to know what would happen if the Black City found out they were leaving their _real _King behind. At the moment, "Feliciano" was quivering, whispering to Lovino every now and again.

The Queen face-palmed. "I'll talk to him."

"I think you'd better. And soon, by the looks of it."

Elizaveta nodded and turned back to Soo. "Any more advice before we leave?"

Soo got into an exaggerated thinking pose that made the Queen laugh again. "Hmmm . . ." he hummed. "Don't get killed."

"That's a given."

"Mmmmm, stay strong."

"Ok, anything else?"

"Ummm . . ." Soo really thought about the next one. "Make sure you listen to Sebastian."

Elizaveta blinked, her mind wandering back to the hallway, not four hours earlier. "Can you do something for me, Soo?" she asked.

"If it is within my power, I can certainly try."

She moved to her horse and dug something out of the saddlebags. A book-sized package wrapped in green tissue paper and tied with a wide silver ribbon. "Can you get this to Vladimir?"

Soo accepted the package and answered in a pompous accent, "Would milady like a mezzage delivered wiss zee package?"

* * *

><p>Vladimir looked up to see Soo clamoring onto the roof. "Ah, there you are, Soo." he said, tossing his assistant a sack of Time Powder (as the two had come to call it). "Been wondering where you were – I already got the first two districts and the outside perimeter so if Yao shows up early, we're at least somewhat prepared. I'll take care of this last district here but I need you to powder the Palace once they've all left."<p>

"Can do." Soo said.

Vladimir turned to say something else but noticed the tissue-paper-covered package the demon was holding out to him. The assassin took it with a cautious hand and vamped expression. "For me? Aw, Soo, I didn't know you cared." he teased.

"It's not from _meee_." Soo insisted, his tone portraying the obvious.

Vladimir grinned a seductive smirk. "Any message or last words before I open it?"

"Well, yeah . . ."

. . .

"What is it?"

Soo looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Do I have –"

"Yes."

Soo crunched up his lips before his face fell. He stepped across the grass roof, took Vladimir's face in his hands, and kissed him. The kiss was soft and light, hiding it's meaning behind ambiguity. Vladimir kissed him back – whether it was because he was imagining the kiss actually coming from the Queen or he just wanted to make the moment more awkward, Soo would never now. He could imagine both.

Soo pulled away and had to resist wiping his lips on his sleeve. Vladimir grinned, his fangs adding to the sensual charm of his ever-growing smile. "Did you do that because you wanted to or because that was the actual message?"

"SHUT UP!" Soo whined as Vladimir gave a great, hearty laugh.

* * *

><p>"They're here!"<p>

Elizaveta looked around as Ludwig began issuing orders; the scouts from the tunnels still hadn't come back yet to say if they were all secure – but there was no more time to wait for them. "Hey!" Elizaveta called to one of her three tailing soldiers. "One of you – come with me!" before she called to her group, "Tunnel 1!" The fourth of the City assigned to Tunnel 1 all perked up and rose to their ready feet immediately. Elizaveta and the one soldier lead the front of the line into the first tomb.

Musty. The best word to describe the tomb. The dust flew as the Queen, soldier, and front of the line filed into the space. In the back wall sat a big, gaping hole, about seven feet high and three feet wide. Torches lit, Elizaveta stepped down into the tunnel, black and ominous, almost cottony, and ordered the soldier, "Help everyone down."

"Yes ma'am." the soldier said obediently. When they had a steady flow of citizens, horses, and mules coming into the velvet darkness, Elizaveta began the long march into it, her torch being the only light. She prayed and prayed that it wouldn't go out.

Every now and again, Elizaveta would take notice of a supporting arch: a thick wooden pole on either side of the tunnel, reaching up into the creaking blackness and connecting with a network of planks along the roof of the tunnel. It only added to the eerie atmosphere, and if someone could put a fog in the tunnel, Elizaveta would have bolted back up. _I would rather face a thousand soldiers than go down there again_, she would say.

But she just couldn't, now could she? She had a fourth of her very populous City to care for - which in her case was _a lot_ of people - and, quite frankly, they depended upon each other for strength. _If I'm strong, they're strong_, Elizaveta thought to herself, _If they're strong, I'm strong . . ._

The spine-chilling, moan-like shriek that came from behind her whisked away all her strength and anything that had been forming in the hearts of the City. Elizaveta turned, handing her torch to the man in the family behind her and said, "Keep walking. I'm going to see what's up, I'll be right back." _I hope_.

Whatever awaited her back in the tunnel, she thought, could only be what Soo had warned her of. _A ghost?_ Possibly. Maybe it was the King whose tomb they had disturbed. _A demon?_ she thought as she comforted one old woman and her daughter and son-in-law. _I've dealt with Soo for the past two months and he was right under my nose_, the Queen assured herself. _I can do this, I can do this . . . _

Elizaveta was sure she was halfway down the line when one of the soldiers from the back came into view - from the sweat on his face, Elizaveta guessed he had been running. When he caught sight of her, his pace quickened tenfold and he had to skid to a stop when he reached her. "Why are you coming back here?" he asked, clearly extremely puzzled.

"Well why are you coming up here?" she asked him, just as puzzled. "Is something wrong back there?"

He shook his head. "No ma'am, not at all. We heard a shriek so I was sent to come up and check on you."

The Queen's brow furrowed. "I heard one too, but it came from back this direction."

The soldier shook his head again. "Not to be rude ma'am, but the three of us back there heard it come from _waaay_ up here."

Her shoulders fell. "Then whatever it is has to be somewhere between us."

The soldier paled under his armor. "What do you think it could be, ma'am?" he whispered, leaning in close.

Elizaveta shook her head. "I'm not so sure. But what ever it is, we'll have to find it and get rid of it soon before it -" She stopped mid-sentence as she glanced at the people passing her.

"What is it, ma'am?" the soldier pressed.

Her eyes had settled on a couple, an old woman and what could only have been her six-year-old granddaughter. The little girl was pouting, sticking out her lip and looking stubbornly at her grandmother. "But sweetheart," the old woman persisted. "You can't stop to rest, I swear dear, we're almost there -"

"Then why don't you carry me?" the little girl persisted.

The grandmother shook her head. "No dear, I am much too old to carry you -" she began to say.

Elizaveta seized her chance and stepped forward into the conversation. "Excuse me, ma'am -"

"Oh, Your Majesty," the woman balked and smiled, "I am sorry she is causing such a fuss, she's usually never this picky -"

Elizaveta held up a patient hand to quell the rambling woman. She bent down to look the little girl in the eye. "Would you like to come up to the front with me?" she asked. "I could use some company." The little girl shook her head stubbornly. "I would carry you." the Queen offered.

The little girl's face brightened up as the woman persisted, "Oh, no, ma'am, really, Your Highness, you needn't do that, really -"

"It's fine, I assure you." Elizaveta picked up the little girl in her arms before the six-year-old found some reason to protest - that pout and demonic glare in her eyes were returning - and whispered over her shoulder to the old woman, "You need some rest anyhow."

Elizaveta and the soldier made their way back to the front of the line with many thank-you's and goodbye's. A few people along the line stopped them to ask, "Your Highness, is everything alright? We heard a shriek -" and here, Elizaveta and the soldier cut them off, saying that everything was under control and there was no need to worry.

The man that Elizaveta had given the torch to a while ago had been holding up well. The soldier took the torch back and led alongside the Queen, the man melding back into the queue. Elizaveta glanced at the little girl in her arms. She was shifting uncomfortably, and the glare had returned to her eyes. The Queen thought for a moment before a petal hung in her eyes. _They ward off evil . . . What about you? . . . Anything down there won't be used to flowers like me . . . _

Elizaveta took the crown of hyssops from her head with her free arm and calmly placed the crown on the little girl's head. A low growl came from her throat just before her eyes began to droop. That shadowy gray-green light in her dark brown eyes faded and Elizaveta swore she could see a horror-faced mist drift from the girl's unconscious body. _That'll teach you_, Elizaveta snarled in the mist's face. The mist hissed back at her and took off back over the heads of the City, quickly disappearing into the traveled darkness. The Queen had no fear of the banshee possessing anyone again.

* * *

><p>Elizaveta found that not only did she herself gasp when the stone to the end of the tunnel was rolled away, but the rest of the City did too. As the bright light glancing off of the dead grass of the plain hit her face, the Queen never thought sunlight could taste so sweet.<p>

Kiku was there to lend her a helping hand out of the tunnel, reaching down to her with a small, gracious smile peppering his delicate face. Elizaveta gladly accepted it and, after she had set the child down on the ground, embraced the Bishop. Kiku, not a touchy feeling person by nature, balked for a moment before he wrapped his arms around her. "Was it an endeavor in your tunnel?" his quiet voice asked.

She whispered, "I had a little trouble with a banshee, but other than that, we were fine. Pretty easy going."

He nodded when they pulled away. "That is good, good."

"Who's arrived?" she asked, gesturing to the mass of citizens behind the small, almond-eyed Bishop.

"Ludwig, Piero, and Lovino were the first to arrive. Then Lars and I, and now you. We are just waiting for Sebastian, Genevieve, and Emil before we get moving."

Elizaveta looked over to the line of stones piled up against a small hill, three of which were rolled away to expose the tunnels beneath. The Queen nodded and both began to help people from the tunnel's mouth. It was high noon when Ludwig marched up to them. "Any sign of Sebastian?"

Kiku shook his head. "None."

Ludwig sighed and rubbed his temple. "He better be showing up soon. I want a good lead on the Golden Troops if they decide to follow us."

An hour later, Ludwig couldn't handle the suspense any longer and rolled away the stone to the third tunnel himself. As the Queen, Rook, and Bishop peered into the darkness, Kiku said, "Ludwig, do you think someone ought to go down there and check for them -"

"I'm almost tempted to do it myself." Ludwig said blankly.

"What's that?"

The Bishop and Rook broke from their conversation and peered along Elizaveta's steady hand. What could only have been the bobbing head of a torch came to view, far off in the distance of the tunnel. When the Knight saw the light at the end of tunnel, blocked by three crouched figures, his pace quickened considerably. Elizaveta could here the cry of, "We're nearly there!" The echoing, feminine voice could only have been Genevieve. But there was something in her voice that the Queen almost couldn't pick out.

Sebastian helped Genevieve from the tunnel's mouth before dousing his torch and pulling Ludwig aside.

The Rook, relaxed now that the third tunnel had finally showed, tensed again immediately when he saw the look on Sebastian's face. "What's wrong?"

The Knight wiped sweat and dirt and dust from his worried face with one swipe - not really getting it all - and continued his heavy breathing. "The tunnel collapsed."

Ludwig began to press for questions. He handed the Knight his canteen as he said, "Was anyone hurt?"

Sebastian swallowed hard and gave the canteen back. "Not that we know."

"Was anyone trapped?"

At this, the Knight nodded. "There was an iffy spot in the roof about three miles back from here. Emil and Gene and I were helping people across when we felt the ground begin to shudder. The last thirty or so and Emil were trapped on the other side of the block."

"Did you try getting them out?"

The Knight nodded. "The debris was much too thick. Ludwig -" Sebastian grabbed his arm as the Rook began to walk away. "I - I . . . I'm sorry. I did what I could but -"

He shook his head. "You did what you could, Sebastian. And you kept calm until you got here. I would say that you handed the situation rather well."

* * *

><p><em>Genevieve's shriek had brought Sebastian from his dreams and into the real world again. She was backing away from the pair of pillars, shrieking his name. "Sebastian!"<em>

_The tunnel was shaking. The dirt from the roof was falling, drifting through the air like the heaviest dust; pebbles showered the Knights head as he joined his City. He looked back through the dust, looking Emil in the eyes. The last thirty or so citizens standing behind the Pawn were frozen, wondering what their commanders would do._

_Genevieve pulled Sebastian back when he began to reach for the Pawn. If Sebastian had taken another step forward, he would have been crushed by the falling timbers and crashing earth. _

* * *

><p>The Knight balked. Elizaveta knew: it was the first time in his life where Sebastian hadn't known what to do. She laid a calm hand on his shoulder as he began to stutter, "N - no, no -" and pulled him away.<p>

Ludwig whispered to Kiku now. "Do you think you'd be able to move it?"

The Bishop shook his head. "If Yao comes after us," he began, "I would rather use my energy to chase him back to the Golden Palace. Believe me, Ludwig, I want nothing more than to rescue them, but if Yao shows –"

Ludwig nodded. "I understand, Kiku. It's just hard trying to figure out –"

"Look!"

The Rook and the Bishop tore their eyes off to the east where a long dust cloud had formed. "What is that?" Kiku asked.

"What else could it be?" Ludwig and Kiku shared a look before the Rook yelled to the rested crowd. "Back in the tunnels!"

The citizens looked around, confused and frightened. The Monarchy directed them all back into their respective tunnels, saying, "Hurry. Hurry! No time to waste."

Thank god there was no fuss. When people found out the reason for what was happening, they even went so far as to bug each other to hurry out of the light and into the cotton dark of the tunnels they had only recently left. "That went a lot smoother than I thought it would." Ludwig told Lars, and the Pawn nodded as he headed off to Tunnel 2 to wait for Kiku.

"You ready, Liz?" the Bishop asked as Elizaveta dodged into her tunnel. She nodded, and Kiku put the stone in place, shutting of the Queen, her three guards, and her fourth of the City in darkness once again.

"Should we light a torch, ma'am?" one of the soldiers asked her.

She nodded, then realized they couldn't see a thing in the dark, cottony velvet and said, "Better than nothing."

"But, Your highness, what if the Golden Troops open the tunnel?" another soldier whispered.

Elizaveta answered back. "Then I can chuck it at heir sorry asses and tell them not to mess with my helpless citizens." At his, the soldiers chuckled. The torch sprung to life just as a faint whining drifted in from farther down the tunnel. "What's happening back there?" Liz asked, face drawn.

One of the soldiers went off to check, but he didn't get twenty feet before the rest of the citizens began to tremble and whine: the ground was _trembling_, as if thousands of horses were stampeding over the surface. Just like with what it hust've been like for Sebastian and Emil . . .

"They're here . . ." Elizaveta said solemnly.

The citizens immediately began to back up, cower in fear. "Just remember –" Elizaveta told her soldiers "– whatever opens up that stone, we won't go down without a fight."

"Yes ma'am!" they chorused, drawing their swords and standing ready. The tunnel felt like it was about to collapse.

"How many do they have . . . ?" the Queen whispered to no one in particular. No one answered her.

It felt like forever and a year passed before the earthquake stopped. Elizaveta could hardly hear the three pairs of steps outside the stone. One pair light, the other two heavy. All three hurried. It didn't sound quite like Yao would step; perhaps she had brought Peter with her . . . .

The stone began to roll away. The City held it's breath.

"SORRY 'BOUT THAT!"

Elizaveta knew that voice. "_Manda_?"

* * *

><p><strong>Blue: It's Egyptian mythology that the Blue Lotus was associated with the sun, life and death because the blue lotus opened when the sun came up and closed when it went down. <strong>

**Blu: ^.^ Pretty flowers. Lol, we have a lotus ;)**

**BFTL: omcc, GUYS! I was listening to my Celtic Thunder CD the other day (really, they're all awesome, you should def totes mai goats listen to them if you don't already) and when _The Old Man_ came on, I spazzed and was all like "OMCC Mr. NEWSPAPER AND AUSTRIA!" seriously, I would def totes make that video – if only there were more pictures of mr. newspaper alone and he and roddy together . . . . sigh. I WILL do it one day, mark my words. Anyway, a strangling fig is a type of tree that literally strangles it's "host tree." It grows in the rain forest, so you won't find any here in North America. The seeds land in the fork of a larger tree and begin to send out a few leaves. The roots of the little plant will grow and grow straight down to the ground until it reaches the soil. When it does, it begins to grow even more roots and wrap them around their host tree; after a few decades, the strangling fig tree begins to get so large that it starts to squeeze the host tree with its roots, eventually killing it. When the host tree eventually rots away, the roots hold up the fig tree and it continues to grow. And all that happens after a few hundred or so years. Look em up, guys, they're really cool. Especially when more than one land on the same tree. ;)**

**Blue: anyway – BLU! WHAT THE HELL WAS WITH THAT KISS!**

**Blu: *snicker* heheh, I love that movie (A Knight's Tale – watch it guys, Heath Ledger is in it).**


	16. Chapter 15: Holly and Lavender Heather

**Ok, I've decided to keep the story going as it is, but you guys will have to re-read a couple chapters, it that ok? The Prologue and Chapter 1 (Aloe) have been re-written, so go read those before you read this chapter, else you'll be insanely confused. Chapter 2 (Strawberry) and Chapter 3 (Orange Mock) will be re-written next.**

* * *

><p><strong>Now onto business: . . . . . . please don't kill me D: My life was hectic with all the preparing for finals and last week of school-stuff and memorizing lines for my Drama Final(s) and yeah. So that's my excuse :D I gave myself the first week of summer to chill and get back on track with the plotting and the doodling – OMG! Speaking of which: I MADE A COVER FOR YOU GUYS! *dummy* The link is at the very very end and because I feel like FF hates me, I had to put spaces between every character :| I'm terribly sorry, remove them all.<strong>

**NOTE: All chapter titles will now be named after a certain kind of flower. I recently went on an Azkaban-Dumping-Trip (because I named my Trash Bin "Azkaban" [even though I'm not a real HP fan /shotshotshot]) through my computer and discovered that I had a document dealing with the meanings of bazillions of flowers and blooms and whatnot. So, I said to myself, "Hey, WTFrance" and decided to use them. They are named after the specific flower either because the meaning of the flower fits perfectly with the – attempted – mood of the chapter OR because the flower's meaning could be ironic when compared to the chapter. It would be too much work at this point to post the meaning at the beginning of every chapter so in the end of the AN, there will be the list. Maybe I'll organize this thing more efficiently one day. But from now on, it will be at the beginning of the chapter.**

**-_- I hated writing parts of this chapter. Like, seriously, you guys have no idea how much I had to bribe myself with sweet potato fries and strawberry yogurt to get off my lazy ass and write this FrUKin thing. So anyway, ENJOY! **

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 15: Holly and Lavender Heather<strong>; Defense/Foresight & Admiration/Solitude, Not

* * *

><p>The Platinum Squire's good-natured laugh was unmistakable. Elizaveta was about to run from the tunnel and embrace the Squire whole-heartedly when some monstrous creature stuck it's head inside through the tunnel's entrance and squawked, opening its massive beak and snapping at them several times. The Queen screamed and backed up, pushing the soldiers and rushing citizens with her.<p>

"_Goose_!" the Platinum Squire yelled above the roar of the creature. The thing stopped and, after a moment of confusion splashing in its pearly eyes, withdrew. "I'm really really really really sorry!" Manda said as the stone was rolled away completely. The Squire stood there, smiling a nervous kind of smile. She helped Elizaveta from the tunnel and rubbed the back of her neck. "Goose is rather curious for a Runner, I apologize."

"So . . . um," It was the Queen's turn to rub her neck. She was now looking at the strange creature; in this light, Elizaveta saw that it resembled more of a giant roadrunner than a terrifying monster.

Manda the Platinum Squire noticed this rift growing between the bird and the Queen and straightened, clearing her throat. "Your Majesty," she said, one arm behind the small of her armored back, the other gesturing between the two, voice decked in some thick, funny accent, "may I present Goose the Runner. Goose, this is Her Majesty, Black Queen Elizaveta the First of the Silver Kingdom."

Elizaveta couldn't help but laugh at the grinning Squire as Goose regarded her with his onyx stare. Goose rose up, puffing his feathers in an attempt to seem larger, keeping his gaze with the Queen steady and gleaming. With a small, chick-like squeal, the Runner dashed behind Manda and cowered, feathers glued to his body, quivering and shivering like a leaf. "Sh – _Gooooose_!" Manda wrapped her arms around the base of his beak, looking back at Liz with her own wavering beam, as if she were embarrassed – slightly. "S – see? He – he's just a big sweetheart!" she insisted.

Elizaveta couldn't help but to smile back. "Is Vash here too?"

Manda's shoulders and arms fell from the bird. She sighed, placing her elbow at the crook of Goose's now-steady neck and leaned on it. "Yeah." She sounded as if she had more to say, but Elizaveta didn't press the issue.

Instead, she said what she knew Manda wanted to hear: "Sebastian's in the third tunnel –"

Manda and Goose were gone in a flash, the Squire's faint "Thank-you" floating of in the gathering wind. Elizaveta smiled and turned, helping more and more citizens from her tunnel.

* * *

><p>Genevieve observed the scene before her. Gosh, so professional it was almost . . . scary? No, "intimidating" was the proper word. Knights, decked in platinum armor, strutting about from one Knight to another, making sure everything was well in order with the forming groups of citizens, comforting worried women and children, making sure the Runners were keeping track of their self-established lookout.<p>

The giant birds were really remarkable creatures, in Genevieve's perspective. They were swaggering around with their crested heads high, patiently a step behind their masters, almost like some great brown heron. Upon passing one another, the birds would croak to each other, a think, almost guttural sound, not unlike a whistle, not unlike the screech from degreased gears. The strangest noise Genevieve thought she would ever hear. They chirped away at each other occasionally; an incredibly effective communication system they had going.

Sebastian shifted in her arms and Genevieve was forced back into the reality of the situation. The Knight pulled away, wiping the remaining tears from his pink face. He forced a weak smile for her sake. Gene smiled back a quite sincere smile and the Knight choked out a laugh. "Darn."

"What?" she asked, brow drawn, head cocked.

He brushed her shoulder lightly, as if dusting it. "I got your blouse all wet," The far-off, celestial look in his eyes suggested that he wasn't thinking about the condition of her shirt.

Genevieve chuckled. "At least it's not my only shirt." she responded good-naturedly.

Sebastian let out a single, solid laugh right from his gut, almost as if he were actually happy. Just for a moment, Genevieve thought she could see the happier, spunkier side of the Knight. Even if she had only known him for a day before Rodderich passed away . . .

"Thanks." he said.

They stood there for a moment, watching the Platinum Knights and their Runners strut by, armor and feathers gleaming, until a shout tore the two from their daze. "_Sebastian_!"

The Knight looked behind him, noticing the running figure, and braced his feet in the stalk-strewn earth, wiping the frown off his face. The Squire flung herself into his arms and the two laughed, embracing in the friendliest conduct. Manda laughed again and hugged him tighter. "I missed you Sebastian!" she screamed.

The two pulled away from each other and the Knight ruffled her brown bangs. "I missed you too, squirt! How've you been?"

Genevieve watched from a short distance, admiring the way the two were communicating. It was almost . . . charming? Yes, that was an appropriate word for their exchange. Charming. Their rapid-firing questions back and forth, not pausing to stop and answer the other's questions. Genevieve nearly got lost in the midst of all the words. "HEEEY!" she yelled at them.

They both stopped to look at her with perplexed expressions, both breathing heavily.

Good-naturedly, Gene said, "From my perspective over here, Your Knightliness, both of you are turning a bit blue. You might wanna stop for air, hm?"

Sebastian laughed. "Yeah, maybe."

But when the Knight looked back to Manda, her brow was furrowed. "'Knightliness'?"

"Oh . . . yeah, um, I'm Knight now." he replied shakily.

Manda's expression turned into disappointment. As she was about to say something, her expression changed again, from disappointment to a kind of utter, horrified surprise, and her hands flew up to cover her gaping mouth. "Oh! Oh, Seb – Sebastian –"

He shook his head rapidly. "No." Genevieve was also a bit astonished by how strong Sebastian's voice sounded. No trembling, no wavering, none at all. The Knight motioned for Genevieve to come closer to them. She did so, and he positioned himself between them, an arm around each of their shoulders. "Cummon, let's go find Ludwig. He probably has something productive for us to do."

* * *

><p>The three found Ludwig talking to a small, yellow-haired, Platinum-armored man. "Well then <em>go get them<em>!" the Rook was yelling.

The smaller man's shoulders squared off before he stuck a finger in Ludwig's face. "Goddamnit Ludwig, _don't yell at me_!" The man seemed to calm as he lowered his hand and continued speaking in a more controlled – if extremely agitated – voice. He turned and yelled to a group of a dozen or so Platinum Knights.

When the smaller man was a good ten yards away, Sebastian and the two girls dared to approach a face-palming Ludwig. "What's with you?" the Knight asked, taking his arms from the girls' shoulders.

Dragging his hand away from his face, the Rook said, "Vash said that he was the one who made your tunnel collapse."

"_He did what_?" Sebastian screamed as Manda's hands flew up to her mouth.

Ludwig held out a hand to stop them both. "He's deploying a party to go and dig them all out, don't worry."

Sebastian turned to Manda as she began her apologetic blathering. "Manda, Manda, _Manda_!" When she stopped, he continued, "It's alright. It was an accident, and I'm sure no one was hurt."

The Squire nodded sheepishly and the Knight turned back to Ludwig when the Rook began to speak again. "Sebastian, can I talk to you – in private?"

The Knight nodded and left the two girls alone to get better acquainted. Ludwig pulled him aside, saying, "Now, I don't want you to tell you mother any of this – heaven forbid she get all worked up and the people start panicking."

Sebastian fixed Ludwig with an arched brow. The Rook explained, "Vash and Gilbert were originally sent to come and protect the Black City. Once they arrived, they found Yao and his troops, readying to smash down the City with catapults. Vash said this man on horseback began to approach them."

"What does this have to do with my mother?"

"The man somehow convinced Yao to turn around and head back to the Golden City."

". . ."

"Now do you see why you can't tell your mother?"

"How do you know it was Vlad?" Sebastian asked, crossing his arms disbelievingly.

The Rook shrugged. "Vash said the man was clothed in red."

Sebastian retreated to the deeper reaches of his mind, thinking carefully. Vladimir said he would do his best to protect the City. But what happened after . . .

"Vash also said that the man went with them when they left."

The Knight balked. "Traitor!" he growled under his breath.

Ludwig shrugged. "We may never know. Sebastian," he laid an iron-clad hand on the Knight's iron-clad shoulder, "as long as our City is safe, that's all that matters. If Vladimir ends up telling them anything about how we left or where we went, we're already three steps ahead of their game. They won't cross the River without losing even more time and they'll never find the Platinum City. Hell, I don't even know where it is. Gilbert had to fly ahead to flag down the guards because it's gonna take a while to open up the gates."

Sebastian stopped. "Gilbert was here?"

The Rook nodded. "Bruder and a couple of his soldiers arrived a while after Vash did, on these _big_ ravens. Funny, actually: everyone was so mesmerized by the Runners that no one seemed to notice Gilbert show up. After doing a head-count, Gil said that he'd have to go get the gates ready but that he'd send back more Ravens to help get us across the River."

When Sebastian turned away to go think things out on his own, Ludwig caught him and turned him back. "Satisfied?" After a moment, the Knight nodded. Ludwig released him and continued, "As soon as Vash is done with sending that squad to dig Emil out of the ground, we're gonna start getting people across."

"Is Gil gonna send back enough birds to do it?"

The Rook shrugged. Again. He was being too carefree these days, too unsure.

"Well then, what's your backup plan?"

Ludwig gave a shifty smile and pointed to a group of Runners. One seemed to be angered and was flapping its wings madly, buffeting the other two birds to the ground and rising almost twenty feet in the air before gently hovering back down. "Those wings gotta be used for something."

* * *

><p>Sebastian sighed with relief as he guzzled down the water in the canteen that was brought to him. He fell onto his back, staring at the star-speckled sky through the trembling stalks of brown grass and dead bracken. Across the River. No danger here. They were safe. He could relax . . . just a bit . . . .<p>

Someone grabbed his arms and hauled him to his feet. "_Heeey_!" the Knight shouted, turning to look at the stranger – who really . . . wasn't a stranger at all. "Oh . . ." Sebastian said, shifting on his boots. Even if they _were_ considered equals now, the Platinum Knight had always been intimidating – even though he was a foot shorter than Sebastian. "Hello Vash."

The blond man grunted. "Manda tells me you're Knight now."

Sebastian nodded and Vash nodded back. His stoic green eyes remained unwavering ponds, like always. Not a pebble to be dropped. "How?"

The Silver Knight knew what he meant. He made sure to point across the crowd to Piero, discussing something quietly with Ludwig. Vash was a smart guy, and he figured out what Sebastian meant by the simple gesture. He nodded curtly again, hands on his hips, and said, "I am sorry. He will surely be missed."

A pebble did indeed drop, but it didn't hit the water. It hit a nearby frog and rolled onto the banks. When the frog tried to send out its croak, all that came out was a squeak. Vash's voice had not just cracked. No, no way.

But it did. Sebastian knew it. He pretended he didn't, and let Vash get away with it. The Knight clapped Sebastian on the shoulder and said, beginning to walk away, "I'd suggest you refill that canteen: it's a long way to the Gates."

Sebastian cocked his head, looking at the empty container in his hand. "Gates?"

"Mm-hmm."

Sebastian turned to see Gilbert. "Oh, seriously?"

The albino Rook boomed. When he stopped laughing, "I better get a head start on you guys; it'll take them a while to open 'em." Gil put a hand on Sebastian's shoulder as he passed. "Tell West that you guys leave in half an hour."

The Knight nodded and looked back to the canteen as Gilbert walked through the crowd to his Raven. They were in a hurry, obviously. Sebastian could understand the need to get the City under the watchful eye of the Platinum City, but what was the rush?

That's when he started to imagine the snakes coiled around his boots, and he looked out to the plain – where he swore he could see something slithering. _What _was out there for them?

"No." he said, running to the River and dunking the canteen in it hurriedly. "I'm just –" . . . "Hallucinating" made him seem like he was going insane. "– unreasonable? Yeah, yeah, sure, let's go with that, I'm letting my imagination get carried away is all –"

But the more he thought about it, the more Sebastian could see the fangs in the water. The poison leaking from the clay into its murky depths . . .

"Sebastian?"

"AHHH!" Sebastian lept to his feet, letting the canteen leak from his grasp to flow away in the shallow banks of the River. Genevieve was standing there, watching it go. Her eyes widened beneath her glasses and she started, beginning to run after it. The Knight snatched her arm just in time and hauled her back, clinging to her shoulders for dear life.

She began to ask, "Sebastian, what is it –"

His head snapped up and he looked at her, eyes wild. "Are there snakes in the water?" the Knight whispered.

Genevieve balked, screwing her nose. "What?"

Sebastian let her go and fell to his belly at the water's edge, peering across it lengthwise, at its churning surface. "Are there? Is the water really safe to drink? Can we swim in it?" As the multitude of questions poured out of his ever-quickening mouth, Sebastian rose to his feet again and upon his last question, "_Snakes_?" he shook her by the shoulders fiercely again.

She looked ready to slap him. Instead, Genevieve pursed her lips and draped a hand around the back of his head and another around his shoulders, pulling his head down so his forehead was pressed into her collar. With her arms wrapped protectively around his head and the gentle rumbling shaking her bones – her quiet humming –, Sebastian grasped at the folds in her blouse. In her arms, he wept a tearless cry. "Snakes, are there snakes."

"Shh, shhh," she calmed, rubbing the back of his tunic gently, her hand was stolid. "There's nothing wrong with the water. . ."

Sebastian pulled away to look at her. "How do you know, huh?"

Genevieve sighed, ignoring his question as she felt his forehead. Pulling out her own canteen and the lace from her neck, she doused the cloth and wrung it out. But when she reached up to dab his forehead, he pulled away harshly, eyeing the canteen from which the water had come from. She rolled her eyes and slapped it on his face, retorting, "It's my _own_ water."

Liar. Sebastian knew she was just saying so to make him feel better – she had most definitely _not_ been carrying a canteen when they were in the tunnel together – but somehow the lie made him feel a bit better. After a few moments of her dabbing his scorching face, Genevieve pushed her glasses up on her nose and said, crossing her arms, "Now why don't you tell me what the _real_ problem is."

It wasn't a question. Sebastian looked back at the River for just a moment – and felt Genevieve turning his chin. "The water isn't the problem." she said. When the Knight didn't reply, she sighed. "It's your father."

Sebastian almost didn't hear her. It wasn't as if she whispered it, no, quite the contrary. She said it as if she were taking a walk in the park. The Knight had momentarily wondered off into his own little world, and that last word of hers – "_father_" – had reawakened him. Now, he was hostile. "You never knew my father – you never knew anything about him – how could you know how I feel about it?"

She fixed him with a harsh look. "That's right," she snapped, "you're the only one who misses your father."

Sebastian stopped. He really didn't know what it was he could have said to counter her without being slapped in the face.

"At least your father has an excuse for leaving you." Her voice had cracked. "Your father's dead." Her glasses seemed to cloud as she straightened. "Next time you snap like that," she said, tone hostile, "think of the rest of us who've tried for so long not to."

Genevieve left him pondering in the dust as she stormed away, her boots kicking up small clouds of dust.

"Snap?" the Knight asked himself. He looked down at his hands, red from being clenched so hard for so long. _Did I really?_

_Duh._ the voice in his head retorted. _Snakes in the water: _really_?_

_There's something out there! _he persisted, turning back to look at the land, uncoiling, unwavering. _I swear!_

_Yeah, uh-huh, sure. _the voice taunted him again.

"I know I saw it!"

"Saw what?"

Sebastian jumped and turned in a flash. Manda giggled. "You're really jumpy!" Hopping off the saddle on Goose's back, the Squire asked, "What's up with you today?"

The last Sebastian saw of Genevieve that night, she was sitting by herself, all alone, throwing pebbles into the roiling depths of the River. Vash approached her, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.

* * *

><p>The Platinum City was a wonder, plain and simple. Though the premise on which it was founded was not so simple at all.<p>

* * *

><p><em>I sighed. "Perhaps this is a good time for some background information, don't you think?"<em>

_Edel, awakening from his slumber, wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth and nodded drearily. "Suu – uure." he yawned. Alfalfa still lay snoring, undisturbed. That was typical of little children. I'd expected him to fall asleep. I didn't mind, in fact I _preferred _that he do just that – skip the scary parts of the story, you know what I mean?_

"'_Yawn' is right, Edel." Alrik snapped, picking himself to his feet to stretch his tiny little back. "Your story is boring, old man."_

"_Oh? Is it really, Alrik?" I said, raising my brows in a politely smug fashion. "Because last time I took a look at your façade, you looked pretty engrossed in The Old Man's Boring Story'."_

_Sylar stifled a snicker behind his hand. Alrik whirled on him with a furious turquoise gaze. "Now, now, children," I quelled, noting the red-headed child's strong stance, "Let's not get into a fight in the Old Man's Shop, else the Old Man will make you clean up your mess. Trust me, there's a lot that has to be carried out to the dump bin three blocks down."_

_Grumbling, Alrik sat back in his seat on the couch and crossed his arms, the OK to continue. I cleared my throat, putting my empty pipe on the counter next to me. "Are we all ready?" I asked, noting Edel's and Alfalfa's shifty maneuvers to get comfortable on the sheep-skin rug. Edel nodded and settled back onto Alfalfa's white flank._

"_Now, do you remember when I first started out this story, the history behind this war?"_

_The three children nodded._

"_Well, originally, the man who broke away from the mean ruler –"_

"_Didn't the evil guy have a name?"_

"_Shut up, Alrik."_

"_YOU shut up, Sylar!"_

_I broke them up before they could get into another almost-brawl. "Yes, Alrik, the King did, but it is much too long and confusing and hard to pronounce."_

"_Humph."_

"_Anyway, the man – we'll call him George, yes? – when George and the people that went with him had crossed the big River in the west –"_

"_You're just dumbing this down for us, aren't you?"_

"_I told you to shut up!"_

"_OWWW! That was my head, you Casino Freak!"_

"_Really? I thought I was aiming for your face, Cherry Head! OOOOOOOOOps, my mistake!"_

_I had to interrupt them again. "Yes, yes it did, but you see, Alrik, back in those times, the names people used to call each other and name landmarks were very very long, very very confusing, and phonetically made no sense at all. So for right now, for the sake of your young minds, yes, I AM dumbing it down."_

"_Humph."_

"_May I continue?"_

_Alrik nodded and scuffed the polished toes of his black shoes against each other._

_From here, I proceeded to tell them of how George and the escapees took shelter in the mountains. No need to describe all the "trouble" they ran into out on the plain, oh no, don't want to scare them again like I did with the description of Rodderich's death. Ha! – you should have seen their faces._

_They'd run into the natives of the mountains and together, once interpreters and treaties had been established, began to build the Platinum City. Their main design was based upon defense; if the Golden King ever came after them, what would their main strategy be? _

_Ambush._

_The actual City would be built into a cliff face three miles from the mountain-plain border. Designed to be built in levels, the Platinum City would be "the most secure structure to ever be built on the face of the earth."_

"_Think of it as a rack of cookie sheets." I told the children, rising from my rocking chair to grab an empty trinkets stand from behind my counter. I brought it before the children, setting it gently on the floor and kneeling beside it, and said, "There are a total of ten levels. Each level has a kind of slot in the cliff face from which sunlight is allowed to enter. The level is built into the rock, and some are so big that it takes you almost an hour to reach the back of it. At the front of each level is a kind of flap –" I demonstrated for them, putting my hand over the space between two racks and moving it as if it were on hinges "– that can be lowered to protect the level behind it."_

_And that's not even considering the entrance into the City. The main gates are so well crafted and hidden that you cannot see them with the naked eye; even in person, they're difficult to notice. _

* * *

><p>The Platinum Palace wasn't really a Palace at all. It consisted of the 9th and 10th Levels of the City, burrowed deeper and deeper into the rock, more so than any other level.<p>

After dropping off the Runners on the 8th Level, Sebastian, Manda, Elizaveta, Kiku, Lars, Lovino, and Emil lay snuggly in large pillows on a cushioned area of the floor. The four Platinum Pawns, Katyusha, Toris, Mei and Bella, were going around to everyone in the cushion and offering snacks and peppy, bubbling little beverages. Genevieve sat on the edge, hugging an embroidered, red silk cushion to her face. Tino, the Platinum Bishop, sat beside her, talking in a quiet, soothing voice and doing little magic tricks with a deck of platinum-and-green cards and a couple of polished marbles. Gene would look up occasionally to watch with gleaming eyes – but she would never return Tino's friendly smile, even when she knew for sure that particular tricks were finished. And every trick was worthy of applause.

Ludwig, Piero, Vash, Gil, and Máximo sat in chairs around a large, circular, white marble table. Piero was pretending to be exhausted from the trip and having to make all the decisions – which Ludwig was perfectly alright with. Instead, he was pitching the tales of their struggles from the very beginning of the war after the meeting to right when they ran into Vash, Manda and Gil.

Máximo sat silent for a moment, taking this all in, while everyone waited to see what he would say. He didn't move when he spoke: "What do you think, Matt?"

"I've been meaning to ask," Elizaveta piped up from her spot in the pillows, "where _IS_ Matthew? I haven't seen him at all –"

She was interrupted by a harsh squawk. From out of nowhere appeared a large, elegant trumpeter swan with a pink, satin ribbon tied in a bow around his neck and a dash of purple from his black beak, across his forehead, and down to the base of his skull. It waddled on black feet up to the table and flapped its way onto the surface, stopping in front of Máximo. The Platinum King gently reached forward to untie the ribbon. He read the embroidered text on the length of satin while the bird hopped of the table and waddled back into the hall from whence it came, disappearing around the corner.

Máximo's brow furrowed deeply and he looked up at the Silver Rook and King sitting across from him. "What do you mean?" he asked the air again.

The Silver Monarchy and Co. were kept in the dark about most of following conversation between Máximo and the haughty trumpeters with their pink satin ribbons. The next trumpeter made Máximo draw a hand down his brow. "I _know_ that one, Matt, thanks. What about the –" Another trumpeter. "You can't be serious?" This time, he asked the trumpeter that'd brought him the ribbon. It squawked without turning its head. The Platinum King could have sworn the bird was doing its best to swing its hips wider and wider as it disappeared.

Máximo turned to Ludwig and Piero, folding his hands on the table. "So, Ludwig," the Platinum King said, tone somewhere between accusing and amused, "would you mind telling me why Feliciano isn't here?"

Piero visibly and verbally gulped. Dead giveaway. Ludwig tried his best not to look shocked and instead pretended to be flustered. He began his response with a nervous laugh. "Máximo, I – I – I – don't know where –"

"Cut the chit-chat, Ludwig." the Platinum King interrupted. "Matthew's never wrong." Máximo pointed an accusing finger at Piero. "Who the hell are you and where is Feli?"

Piero was quivering like a cornered rabbit. Sebastian had no doubt his heart was beating just as fast. "I – I'm – I'ma his'a cousin."

Ludwig resisted the urge to push Piero to the floor and cover for him. Instead, he started to throw out plausible excuses so they wouldn't be shunned out of their ally's home like criminals. "The events leading up to us . . . leaving Feliciano behind are –"

"You deserted him." Máximo accused.

"That's a harsh interpretation, Máxim –"

"Get out."

Ludwig almost balked. Almost. "What?"

Máximo was standing now, waving a hand nonchalantly over his shoulder. The two soldiers guarding the door took a defensive stance, their spears pointed at the guests on the cushion. Vash and Gil moved hands to their swords with small glances between each other. The rest of the Platinum Monarchy jumped to their feet and watched the scene unfold. "My City will house no such traitors to the crown. I don't care _what_ your excuse: a good soldier _never_ abandons his King."

"Máximo!" Tino barked, marbles and cards supplanted by his magical Bishop's Staff. The staff quivered with an eerie, almost ghost-like glow, its fire-fouled tips beginning to blaze and cast a green glow on the silver tapestries and polished gray floors. "Give them a chance to explain themselves!"

The angry caw that followed silenced the whole scene, stopping it directly in its tracks. Máximo was the one to look the most worried. He turned his head gently, shoulders drawn up to protect his neck, and rested his dark eyes on the large brown eagle posted on his chair. Its golden eyes bored into him threateningly. Matthew _never_ used that eagle. Máximo snatched the ribbon from the trumpeter on the ground beside his chair and read it hurriedly. He didn't feel like today was the right day to get his eyes pecked out.

He sighed hurriedly and looked back at Ludwig out of the corner of his eye. Piero was cowering behind the pale man's thick frame. A miracle no one had spotted the disparity between the supposed cousins – yet. "You have five minutes."

Three and a half minutes later, the Platinum King sighed. He would have collapsed in his chair if the eagle still wasn't standing on it. Instead, he propped his rump on the edge of the table and looked at the Silver Rook, expression skeptic. "You expect us to believe that?"

The entire Silver Monarchy nodded. "It's all true." Elizaveta said. "Every word of it."

Máximo rubbed his beard in thought. "What about you?" He pointed to Genevieve, and the girl looked a bit taken aback for being noticed. "Why are you here? You the replacement for Lukas?" The last question was said with a hint of distain as he gave her a quick glance up and town.

"No. I'm not." she insisted.

Máximo held up a waiting hand, expression remaining unphased. He was waiting.

There was no way she could phrase it, Genevieve thought, without it sounding absolutely absurd. Stupid, really. So instead, she took her chances. "I was sent for protection."

That's when Máximo laughed. A cold-hearted cackle. "Who sent you, dearie?"

"Don't call me 'dearie.'"

Sebastian was the most surprised. Genevieve seemed too sweet to use such a hostile tone. No, "hostile" wasn't the right word. More . . . . "unapproachable"?

"My uncle, South Knight Sir Mathias Køhler of the Bronze Kingdom." she said. His full title was more intimidating, Gene decided. The look the King fixed her with was priceless and Genevieve had to make a hard effort to not laugh at it.

The trumpeter bit the toe of his hanging boot, waking him from his stupor. Reading the scarlet ribbon, he frowned and glared at the trumpeter, who gave an equally terrifying glower in return. Genevieve could only have imagined what it might have said.

* * *

><p><strong>Blu: lol, eh-he *nervous* I dunno how to write Cuba, sorry bros. I kinda did a lot of improv-ing. He turned out a bit douchey in the end there :| Sooooorry.<strong>

**Blue: Haha, lookit: another visit from our **_**mysterious**_** narrator :O Who could it POSSIBLY be? I'll give you a hint – you'll never guess who it is. MW and SEK couldn't. MWAHAHAHAHA! **

**Blu: Ya'know how sometimes, when you're writing, you plan to go on one path and you have it all planned out, but when you start writing you end up going off on a tangent that has absolutely nothing to do with what you had planned originally? And it's too good to get rid of it? Yeah, that's what happened with Sebastian's spaz attack with the snakes in the water. I had never planned for that to be there and yet it literally just happened while I was writing it :| I think it's really random, do you guys think so or do you think it works?**

**Blue: Another question: are there any characters that you guys feel are too . . . anything? Like, "_ is too nice" or "I don't like _ because of X, X, and X" or "she/he's too Mary/Gary Sue" or "_ is OOC at this point: _"? OR what if you think a character is too _ but it works and it's believable? Seriously, I love to hear from my three/four loyal supporters out there ;)**

**BFTL: Moar stuff to explain! *dummy***

Manda: Wy. Yeah, I made up my own name for her. Deal with it.

Runner's Shriek-y Noises: You know the velociraptors in _Jurassic Park 3_? Yeah, if you combine that with the clicking sound an actual roadrunner makes (see "Vocalization" [take out all spaces, = and +]: h = t + t = p + : = / + / = e + n = . + w = i + k = i + p = e + d = i + a = . + o = r + g = / + w = i + k = i + / = R + o = a + d = r + u = n + n = e + r ) that's what the Runners are s'posed to sound like :| At least, that's what I thought they sounded like. You guys can make 'em sound like what you want, it's cool with me ;)

Pangolin: It's one of those scaled-armadillo-lookin guys. I had to go searching through a _really really really _long list of mammals until I found one I'd never heard of before. I'd known about them before, I just never knew what they were called.

Cover Art (take out all spaces, = and +): h = t + t = p + : = / + / = b + f = t + l = a + n = d + m = w + a = n + d = s + e = k + . = d + e = v + i = a + n = t + a = r + t = . + c = o + m = / + g = a + l = l + e = r + y = / + 3 = 6 + 8 = 8 + 0 = 8 + 0 = 5 + # = / + d = 4 + x = h + r = 0 + 6

**The flower stuffs (order: Chapter _: Flower(s); Meaning, Ironic/Not):**

Prologue

Chapter 1: Aloe; Grief, Not.

Chapter 2: Strawberry; Perfect Goodness, Ironic

Chapter 3: Orange Mock; Deceit, Not

Chapter 4: Eucalyptus; Protection, Ironic

Chapter 5: Clover and Feverfew; Good luck & Protection; Ironic

Chapter 6: Stephanotis; Happiness in Marriage, Ironic

Chapter 7: Flax; Domestic Symbol/Fate, Not

Chapter 8: Coriander; Lust, Not

Chapter 9: Hydrangea; Heartlessness, Not

Chapter 10: Peonies and Bloomed Roses; Aphrodisiac & I (still) Love You, Not

Chapter 11: Juniper; Protection, Ironic

Chapter 12: White Poppy; Consolation/Sleep, Ironic

Chapter 13: Fallen Camellia; Admiration/Good luck gift (Man), Ironic

Chapter 14: Hyssop and Blue Lotus; Wards away evil spirits & Keeps unwanted visitors away, Ironic


	17. NOTICE! Read This Before Anything Else!

***This is just a notice. Not an actual chapter.***

**To my three loyal followers (you know who you are ;] ) and anyone else out there who reads this and never gives any feedback,**

**This isn't another notice like the last one (you know the one where I asked if I should take this down and had one of you [TruDivination] scream "NOOOO! YOU CAN'T! I LOVE DIS STORRY! but i'd reread it anyway . . .", another one who was rather calm about the whole thing [Sarpndo {where'd you come up with this name?}] and said they would read it regardless, and then another one [ChibiKitsu] who mentioned that they wouldn't mind rereading it considering that they hadn't read the last 10 chapters [XD it's ok]). This is just a message telling every reader I have out there what's going to be changed, what is going to be rewritten completely, etc. *attempts to crack knuckles* Let's do this.**

**** Chapters Currently Under Heavy Construction and Next to be Re-uploaded for You to Reread: "Chapter 2: Strawberry", "Chapter 3: Orange Mock", "Chapter 5: Clover and Feverfew".**

**** Characters to be Changed (I mean change as in "Make more realistic, important, etc."): Emil (Iceland), Genevieve (Monaco) (I'm thinking of changing her name to "Abigail", what'd'you guys think?)**

**** The DenNor side-story will be rewritten. Seriously, I always thought this side-plot was lame but I loved the premise and I needed something to distract a bit from the main story line. In conclusion, the entire thing is currently revamped and in the works.**

**** I had something else to say here, but I think I lost it . . . . It'll come back to be eventually. . . . OH! I'll try to put more Sealand/Golden Palace parts in here for those of you that really really like it.**

**** The start of the war: As many of you know, I scrapped the Spamano thing I had originally. As I said to Sarpndo in a reply to her billions of reviews, "war was started by love . . . like it always is" ._. I hate being original like that. What I told Sarpndo was that I had changed it to be a jealousy thing but now that I look back on it, it's so lame I wanna dump the whole thing in a cyber-trashcan like Tony Stark and start from scratch. I also noticed that while the Ludwig-being-horribly-maimed-in-Chappy-1 was a good start, I had nothing I could do with it. I wanna scrap it too, but I'd like to hear your ideas on ****[A) How the war could possibly start if I DID scrap the Luddy-thing] ****And/Or [****B) What I could do with Luddy being injured so the war-spark could be triggered] Hopefully that makes sense . . . If it doesn't, mention it in your review and I'll try to explain it in slang :| I always find I talk better like that (but _Noooooooooo_, no I can't because Wolfie's gonna chop off my head for not capitalizing properly and/or not sounding professional X( )**

**Thank you all for reading and giving me your thoughts. I look forward to PMing with you! **

**~~Blu**


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